A/N: So sorry for the delay. I am hoping that the fact this last chapter is the longest so far will make up for my tardiness. I am now back to working on Prisoners of the Past and possibly a Thanksgiving story that might actually be done around the actual holiday. I love to hear all your comments.

RCJ

Sam heard the sliding of the bar that held their prison door closed just before he sensed the presence of their captor. It wasn't so much an actual physical sensation, but a feeling of dread that crept over him like a sneaky shadow. Hair along his neck rose. Goose flesh covered his exposed arms despite the heat. It brought to mind one of Bobby's familiar quips about a possum crossing over your future grave.

Sam had never really seen the relevance for such a saying in the hunting world considering few former hunters actually had graves, choosing instead a Viking funeral over more traditional routes that left them at risk for becoming the things they most hated, but he could appreciate the sentiment. Sam placed himself in front of Dean, wishing he had more than half a rotten board to defend their position.

The door knob jiggled, the door opened a slither but banged against one of the barrels Sam had drug over. Something growled when its access was blocked by the barricade Sam had attempted.

"Dean!" Sam gripped his older brother's arm, giving him a rough shake. Dean mumbled something but didn't stir. "Now would be the time to wake up, big brother. Please wake up."

Sam wasn't sure how many times he'd professed to not need his brother to protect him especially on the rare occasion he was allowed to come along on a hunt. Currently, he was willing to recant every vow he'd stupidly made about being too old for Dean and Caleb to defend, too capable to be babied.

"Sammy?"

"Dean." Sam took his eyes off the door long enough to check his brother. Dean's eyes were open if not completely focused. He looked worse than when he'd passed out earlier, but Sam took heart that he was at least talking. "Hey! Stay awake! I need you to stay with me. We've got trouble."

"I'm awake." Dean's voice was rough, but he was doing his best to push himself to an upright position. "Where's Caleb?"

Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was déjà vu. "Caleb's not here! I need your help. That thing is coming back. It's at the door."

Dean shook his head stubborn as ever. "Caleb's here. Dad, too."

"The only thing here is the monster that took us!" Sam didn't have time to once again explain the details of how they landed in their current position, how Caleb had not been with them on the hunt, nor was he or their missing father present for a rescue now either, not when said position was about to get much worse.

"It's a darkling." Dean nodded to the door. "We have to hide."

"Hide?" Sam wasn't sure if his brother was in shock or had been having a nightmare. "Where are we supposed to hide? How do you know it's a darkling?"

"Damien told me."

"What…" Sam started.

"Enough with the twenty questions." Dean grunted as he made it to his knees, wrapping his arm across his side. He jerked his chin towards the corner. "Hide back there. Behind the bags of grain."

"What? No!" Sam realized his brother was meaning to face the creature on his own, to offer Sam the only thing he could- time. As much as Sam might have wanted his brother to save the day, he wouldn't let him attempt it on his own.

"Do it, Sammy." Dean got shakily to his feet.

Sam stayed next to his brother as the door crashed inward, the blockade finally giving way under their captor's persistence. Dean stepped in front of Sam. Sam stayed where he was as the creature moved towards them.

Sam had only seen a picture of a darkling in Caleb's journal. Caleb had been hurt by one last year on a hunt with John. While recuperating, he'd drawn a picture of it when Sam had asked what it had looked like. Caleb was a talented artist, so Sam could only assume that the older boy had left out some of the gruesome detail as not to give Sam any extra nightmares. Though the resemblance was undeniable in the faint glow of the lantern light, the darkling before them was ten times more hideous and terrifying than the one Caleb had sketched.

"Hello, fugly," Dean said brightly, moving a few steps forward as if to greet their host. "Your hospitality is almost as hideous as your face."

"Dean," Sam warned. Dean's mouth often worked before his brain. Sam might not have been the seasoned hunter his brother bragged to be, but he was certain taunting the monster holding the huge staff with a razor sharp crystal blade at the end was not a smart plan. Surely, there was some rule against it in the Hunter's Handbook.

The darkling tilted its head, hissed at them.

"Where did a big strapping guy like you get such a girly, pig sticker?" Dean continued. He had the audaciousness to take another step towards the darkling. The darkling inched back towards the door. "Word on the street is you lifted it from a Beira. I'm guessing she's not very happy that you've been using her magic wand to freeze innocent humans instead of her getting a leg up on the winter season. Gives her a bad name I bet with Christmas coming and all. Does your kind like the cold? Because I'm pretty sure you're looking at a lifetime in the arctic region."

Sam wasn't sure darklings were capable of smiling, but it recognized bravado and bluffing when it saw it. The darkling stood its ground, lifted the staff aiming it at Dean's chest.

"Bring it, bitch." Dean moved forward again. "Finish me."

"No!" Sam yelled, forcing his own feet to move. He lunged for his brother, knocking Dean out of the way just as another person leaped through the doorway. There was a flash of silver. Sam watched the darkling's head hit the cabin floor, roll across the bumpy boards as easy as his soccer ball might. The creature's body fell next to where Sam now lay tangled with Dean, his momentum having taken them both down.

"Told you, Sammy," Dean groaned as he tried to roll away from his brother. "Damien's here."

"Superman's got nothing on me, Runt." Sam looked up at the sound of Caleb's voice. The older hunter was holding John Winchester's favorite broad sword, sporting a huge grin on his face. He knelt beside the boys, placing his bloodied sword on the floor beside him before touching Dean's shoulder. "How was that for a last minute rescue, Lois Lane?"

"As usual, your timing sucks." Dean shivered, bringing a hand back to his side. "I almost froze to death before you got here."

"What is it with you Winchesters? Rush. Rush. Rush." Caleb moved his palm to Dean's forehead. "But speaking of your imitation of an ice cube, how you doing ?"

"He's not good," Sam answered, garnering a glare from his brother. "What took you so long?"

"He's conscious," Dean snapped.

"Where's dad?" Sam ignored his brother.

"I'm here," John made his way through the door, stepping over the remains of Sam's barricade and the darkling's headless corpse. Sam watched him shove the crossbow he was holding toward Caleb before running a hand over Dean's hair. He gave his oldest son the briefest of smiles before he went into what Sam dubbed 'first responder' mode.

"Johnny had point right up until the part where he sent me in to face the bad guy." Caleb stood with the bow, making room for John at Dean's side. He gave a quick eye roll, a habit Sam had picked up much to his father and Dean's dislike. . "Youngest hunter always gets screwed by the the Handbook."

"I believe Johnathan's tactic had something to do with you having the best psychic shield as to sneak up on the creature, my boy." Pastor Jim was right behind Sam and Dean's father. He knelt on the other side of Sam, and winked at him before smiling down at Dean. "And then of course the link you two share gave Caleb the distinct advantage."

"What he gave me was the headache from hell." Dean returned the Pastor's grin. He jerked a thumb at Caleb. "Isn't there a rule about him keeping his thoughts to himself? "

"I was trying to keep you awake and abreast of the situation, Traitor."

"Abreast." Dean snorted. "Now there's a word I totally like."

"I'm glad to see someone has been making use of those thesauruses I purchased so long ago." Mackland noted as he also entered the small shack. Sam was further surprised when Bobby and Hollis Newberry clamored in as well, both of them armed for battle. If Caleb was Superman, he'd just brought the Justice League with him. Sam would never admit he preferred dragons to super heroes, but the effect was not lost on him. This just might have been one of Pastor Jim's Christmas miracles.

"Instead of being ungrateful, Deuce, be glad Johnny didn't send in Newberry with all his obsidian adornment." Caleb jutted his chin towards the younger hunter, and lowered his voice as if he didn't want Hollis to hear. In the small room everyone was privy. "But we're saving him in case we have company."

"Company?" Sam looked to his father, whose attention was still laser focused on Dean's wound.

"The Beira?" Dean asked, his gaze on Caleb once more, which Sam imagined was the older hunter's intentions all along. Caleb could be a walking distraction when he needed to be.

"What's a Beira?" Sam asked.

"A winter witch," Hollis responded as if everyone should have known the answer.

"It is not a witch," Mackland contradicted, shouldering his way beside Dean, which made Sam feel better. Mac was the only one in the group with an actual medical degree. "It's more of a nature deity."

"I wouldn't say deity," Jim added, succinctly. He patted Sam's knee. "More likely the creature is similar to a nymph and not nearly as dreadful as the darkling."

"Identity crisis aside, the fancy staff belongs to her, Kid," Bobby picked up the weapon, running his fingers gingerly along the glistening blade at the top. "She'll be wanting it back. That's all you really need to know."

"Can she fix Dean?" That was the only bit of information Sam really wanted to know. "Because he's dying."

"No, he's not," Caleb declared, moving closer to Dean once more.

"No, I'm not," Dean said at the same time.

Sam ignored his brother, the fact he was wounded giving him some leeway. Instead, he glared at Caleb. The spark of anger wasn't rational. It wasn't Caleb's fault Dean was hurt. He hadn't even been on the hunt with them, but it didn't stop Sam from taking his frustration and worry out on him. "From what I've seen the cold acts like a poison. It's not going to stop just because Superman and his broad sword showed up to save the day. Maybe if you'd taken its head before it actually stabbed Dean..."

"I'm afraid Sam's right," Mac interrupted, gesturing to the wound John had exposed on Dean's side. "About the cold acting as poison, that is."

Sam caught the look Knight and Scholar exchanged before glancing to the site where the darkling had used the staff to pierce Dean's flesh. Fear replaced whatever wrath he'd managed. Sam was shocked to see that the chalky white area around the gash had spread, now covering most of Dean's stomach. "It wasn't that bad before."

"It's shutting down his systems." Mac righted Dean's shirt, shifted his hand to take Dean's pulse. "We don't have a lot of time. Typical measures are not going to be of any use."

"You know I've never done typical, Mac," Dean tried for humor, but his voice shook. Sam wasn't sure if it was from cold or fear.

"Where does that leave us, Mackland?" Jim asked. "Will spellwork be required? Should I call Missouri, perhaps Buzz..."

"Or maybe the Beira can reverse it?" Caleb interrupted, sounding almost as shaky as Dean. "She might not have done this, but the cold, just like the staff is a part of what she is. I felt her through the connection."

"Let's ask her." Their father was on his feet before anyone could protest. Sam watched his dad roughly take the staff from Bobby. He took a step forward, his gaze meeting Caleb's. "Ready with the mistletoe, Junior."

Sam wanted to ask about the mistletoe, but wasn't quick enough as his dad thrust the staff into the body of the darkling. He heard Bobby swear when the darkling's form was slowly enveloped in ice. When the cold spread, frost eating up the dirt floor to climb the walls of the shed, Jim muttered something, maybe a prayer. The temperature in the room plummeted. Sam could see his breath now, goose flesh of a different kind covered his arms. The windows froze over in showy ice crystals like a scene from a Christmas card.

"This isn't really helping with the freezing thing, Dad," Dean said, his shivering more pronounced.

"Easy, my boy." Jim placed a hand on the ground beside Dean. Sam was sure the frost shimmered for a moment around The Guardian's touch before receding away from them in small streams of water.

"Johnathan, I'm not sure this is..." Mac started, only to be struck speechless as a bright form took shape and filled the doorway.

Sam squinted. It hurt to look, like staring at a snow covered field in the bright of day. From what he could make out, his brain told him it could have been a woman wearing a long flowing cloak, her body as clear as an icicle. Sam could see through her. Then there was her face. Where bone and muscle should have formed features there was only a glowing white void, two shining orbs like sun struck glaciers subbing for some sort of eyes.

"Well, hell." Bobby lifted his own crossbow. Hollis followed suit. "Leave it to John to invite lady death to the door."

"She doesn't look anything like the picture of the hot chick," Hollis muttered.

John pulled the staff from the darkling's body, lifting it into the air. "I believe this belongs to you."

The Beira slid into the room. If it was possible, the air grew colder. Sam would not have been surprised if it had started to snow. The creature moved her head from side to side seeming to take in the scene, the weapons trained on her, keeping her from taking what was hers. She let loose with an unholy howl that outdid anything Old Man Winter could have conjured. Sam wanted to cover his ears but gripped his brother's wrist instead. He felt Jim sidle closer to both of them, blocking them from the Beira's view.

"Enough," John growled, gripping the staff with both hands now. "We're willing to make deal."

The Beira tilted her head, looking from John to Jim before those terrible glowing orbs settled on Caleb. Sam saw Mackland shift, his grip leaving Dean to grasp his own weapon.

"Sometimes being the best looking guy in the room is a freaking curse," Caleb said lightly with a forced laugh as the Beira moved even closer to him. He glanced to John, not raising the cross bow. "So much for all your warnings about catching the wrong girl's eye, Johnny."

"I have what you want," John said again, trying to regain the Beira's attention. "Don't make us hurt you. Help my son, and I'll give it to you then you can go on your way. No harm, no foul. "

The Beira ignored John. Her eyes glowed brighter and Caleb dropped the crossbow, gripping his head before doubling over with a cry of pain.

"Damien!" Dean tried to sit up.

"Caleb!" Mac scrambled to his feet. Sam was sure Dean would have made a valiant effort to do the same if Pastor Jim hadn't kept a tight hold on him. As it was he struggled against The Guardian's grasp.

"John?" Bobby raised his crossbow as he wrapped a hand in Mac's jacket to keep him from getting in the line of fire. Sam knew Singer was ready on the trigger. He was asking for permission. Sam was torn between wanting his father to give the go ahead for Bobby and Hollis to open fire, and hoping like hell their dad understood that destroying the creature could end any hope of helping Dean.

"Do something, Dad," Dean demanded. "End her."

"No!" It was Caleb who gave the command. He stayed doubled over, his hands braced on his knees. His breath rolled out in tiny clouds of condensation from the cold. "She's not attacking, damn it. I think she's trying to communicate. She doesn't have a light touch."

"Son?" Mackland sounded unsure. He pulled away from Bobby and moved between the crossbow and the Beira.

"She knows what I am." Caleb slowly straightened, his eyes going from the creature to his father. "She recognizes me from when I connected with the staff, and unavoidably with her. She wants me to let her in so I can understand. I think she needs to make physical contact to communicate."

"Then do it," John said. "Ask her if she can help Dean."

"No! No way," Dean snapped, "Keep your freaky thoughts and your hands to yourself, Damien. No making nice with Mrs. Cold Miser. I'm good."

Sam was pretty certain his brother's opinion would have been discounted even if his attempt to add some bravado hadn't been rendered almost pathetic by the fact his latest attempt to sit up and come to Caleb's aid had ended in a violent round of shivering. Pastor Jim wrapped one of the army blankets around Dean, held him tighter to his chest.

"Do you think you can make her understand what we want?" Mac asked.

"If I completely drop my blocks..." Caleb licked his lips. "Sure."

"Junior?" Sam watched his father lower the staff, look to the younger hunter. Sam could have been mistaken, but he thought he recognized an emotion he rarely saw in John's eyes–pleading.

"It's okay," Caleb glanced to Dean and Sam knew his mind was made up. Any other choice would have gone against everything Sam knew to be true about the older hunter. "I'll do it."

"Jim?" Now it was Dean who sounded on the verge of begging. For a terrible second Sam was afraid Dean would win out and the Pastor would give into to him, The Guardian's verdict overruling everyone else involved.

"Caleb will be fine, my boy." Jim turned his gaze to the Beira. "Our new friend will surely understand the wrath she would bring upon herself if otherwise. The Guardian of The Brotherhood will make sure of it."

"If she doesn't get it, we'll make it plain and clear very quickly," Bobby promised. He and Hollis had their crossbows at the ready.

Sam held his breath as the Beira moved closer to Caleb. He winced right along with the older boy as the thing reached towards him, her cloak masking whatever appendage she was offering to place against Caleb's face. Her eyes started to glow again. Caleb looked to be making a concentrated effort not to look away or move out of her reach.

"Talk about a major brain freeze," Newberry whispered.

"Shut up, Hollis."

Sam was surprised when Bobby, Mac and Jim all growled the command in unison. He almost felt sorry for the new hunter. As much as he wanted Dean well, he didn't want Caleb to be hurt. Sam watched Caleb's face for any signs of distress, but the psychic only looked determined.

Sam understood what seemed like long minutes while they all watched and waited was in actuality probably only a brief interlude, but he didn't breathe easy until Caleb took a step away from the creature and the Beira lowered her arm.

"Give her the staff, Johnny." Caleb glanced to Bobby and Hollis. "It's okay. Stand down."

"Are you sure?" John asked, as the other hunters lowered their weapons.

Caleb nodded. "She's sorry for what happened, for what the darkling did. She means no harm, just wants what's hers."

"And Dean?"

Caleb looked to Mac this time even though the question came from John. "I know what we need to do to save Deuce."

Sam watched as the Beira turned from Caleb, her ominous eyes going to his father. John offered the staff. The creature took it, disappearing in a burst of light and frigid blast of air.

"Girls can't get away fast enough after getting up close and intimate with Damien," Dean said, effectively breaking the tension in the room.

"No need for a satisfied customer to stick around, Deuce. Cuddling is way overrated." Caleb made his way back to Dean's side, mussing Sam's hair as he took a knee next to him. "You know the ladies always leave with a smile on their faces. I mean she didn't have a face, but if she did…"

Sam shoved his hand away. Relief that Caleb was fine gave way to his fear that Dean was not out of the woods. They were wasting time. "The only thing that matters is what the Beira left with you, Asshole."

"Boys," Jim looked from Caleb to Sam.

Sam resisted an eye roll, considering who was reprimanding them, and settled for 'thinking' some extremely unkind thoughts he hoped Caleb picked up on.

"Sam's right." John spoke up. "I hope to hell you know how to fix this, Caleb."

"I do," Caleb assured. "We just need to get him home as quick as possible."

John motioned to Bobby. "Let's go put together a litter to make that happen."

Bobby surprisingly didn't give his usual grumble at the Knight's command. Hollis looked torn on whether to follow the two older hunters out of the shed or stay where he was. Sam didn't think twice. He wasn't letting Dean out of his sight.

"I just hope Mrs Freeze didn't ice anymore of your brain cells, Dude." Dean kept up an attempt at banter. Sam recognized the worry in his brother's gaze as he kept his focus on Caleb.

"I'm good." Caleb's teasing smile shifted into one Sam knew was more genuine, one meant to reassure Dean. "Nothing some of Jim's hot chocolate won't cure once we get you back to the farm."

"Jim's hot chocolate sounds really good right about now," Dean admitted through chattering teeth.

"You'll be getting something else, Kiddo." Caleb glanced at Mac. "Seems part of Dad's research was right on the money."

"Really?" Mac arched a brow. "Which part?"

Caleb didn't answer his father but looked to Dean instead. "What are your thoughts on mistletoe, Deuce?"

Sam's brother didn't miss a beat. "Who the hell need's mistletoe to get lucky when you have looks like mine."

"Give me a break," Sam heard Hollis mutter under his breath.

Caleb laughed. "That's my boy."

This time when he ruffled Sam's hair Sam didn't even pretend to mind. If Caleb was up for joking, even if Sam felt he was missing the punch line, it was obvious Dean was going to be just fine.

RCJ

Dean Winchester was hot. Like the kind of hot when he'd spent an early summer's day of shirtless fishing by Pastor Jim's pond. Every inch of him reveled in the warmth. His skin comfortably tingled from the heat. He felt the need to stretch, leisurely, contentedly, like the farm cats in the sunlight that streamed through the slats of the barn. It was only when he attempted to move that he realized something was wrong. All thoughts of a morning nap by the water fled under the crushing panic of being restrained.

He was too hot. There was no way to escape. Thoughts of fire filled his mind, and Dean was suddenly four again. Flashes of flames licking up the walls of his old house in Kansas sprang unbidden, the choking smell of smoke and burnt flesh filling his nostrils. Images and sensations like vicious predators pouncing on unsuspecting prey. Dean tried to call out, even as every part of him wanted to run, to escape the overpowering heat.

"Hey, take it easy."

The familiar voice fought back the fear, a cool touch chased away the cruel memories.

"Dad?" He croaked, latching onto the safe haven his father represented.

"I'm here. You're fine."

"Where…" Dean opened his eyes, blinked the familiar room into focus. He was in Pastor Jim's downstairs guest room. One of the biggest comforts of Jim's place was that it never changed. Dean knew the landscape by heart. The faded cream wallpaper with the tiny poppies reflected in the lamp light. He was in the four-posted antique bed cocooned in a mass of blankets and quilts that explained the difficulty he had in moving his limbs, the sense of smothering. The massive Golden Retrieve draped over him wasn't helping matters. Atticus yawned, his tail swishing over the blankets when Dean's eyes met his.

"You're at Jim's." John shifted some of the blankets from around Dean. He nudged Atticus to move over, which the dog did with a sigh. "Your brother went overboard on the Mac's orders to keep you warm."

"Where is he?" Dean licked his lips, glad when his voice didn't sound as weak and full of fear as it had only moments before. "Sammy. Is he alright?"

"Your brother's fine. He and Caleb went with Jim and Bobby for a tree."

"They went to get a Christmas tree without me." Dean succeeded in pushing himself up higher in the bed. The twinge to his side had him recalling why exactly he was missing out on the yearly tradition.

"You aren't exactly in hiking shape, Ace. Christmas Eve is tomorrow."

"How long have I been out?"

"About twelve hours."

"Damn." Dean reached up to rub his forehead, feeling a dull ache behind his eyes. "That tea did a real number on me."

"Mac's mistletoe concoction knocked you out good."

"It sucked." The tea made with the leaves and berries of the mistletoe had been the Beira's great revelation to Caleb. Mac had been hesitant about Dean consuming it, unsure of the toxicity, but without an alternative cure, the doctor couldn't opt out. "I don't remember anything after drinking it."

"You were pretty far gone before we got you back here." John fiddled with the gold band on his left hand. "Scared the hell out of your brother and Caleb."

"They were here…" Dean now remembered waking a few times through the night. Caleb had been reading to him. Sam asleep in the chair by his bed.

"I had to order them out this morning. Mac thought the fresh air and exercise would do them some good."

Dean eyed the half empty bottle of Johnny Walker Red sitting on the night stand, wondered if that was John's way of taking the edge off the long vigil. No matter what his dad said, Dean knew Sam and Caleb had not been the only people he'd frightened.

"How do you feel now?" His father was staring at him.

Dean returned the gaze. John's eyes were red, bloodshot from lack of sleep or whiskey. He looked worn and Dean had an urgent desire to fix him, to take away the weight that had his father's broad shoulders slumping.

"I'm good, Dad."

"Really?" John raised a brow. "Mac said you'd feel like shit for a few days."

Dean took a moment to take stock. His head pounded now, and his whole body felt impossibly heavy as if moving very far might take the effort of Hercules. He tried for a grin. "By good I mean I feel like I had way too many shots of tequila and let Damien talk me into riding Diablo, the mechanical bull at McSorley's, but hey, I'm not freezing anymore."

"McSorley's, huh?" John's mouth twitched.

"One of Caleb's favorite dives in the city," Dean explained, realizing he should have used another comparison instead of referencing the killer hangover he'd had after a night on the town in NYC with his best friend. "Not that I've ever been there seeing as how I'm not twenty-one."

"Right." John ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. "It'll take some time to get your strength back, but the mistletoe stopped the spread of the Beira's poison. We got lucky. Mac expects a full recovery."

"I'm sorry." Dean didn't know what else to say. He'd let his father down.

"For what?" John sat up straighter, frowning at Dean.

"The darkling got the drop on me." Dean shuttered at how easily he'd been caught off guard. "It could have hurt Sam."

"Your brother's fine," John pointed out.

"No thanks to me." Dean didn't want to think what would have happened if the Calvary hadn't arrived when it did.

"I believe I was hunter in charge on this mission." John ran a hand over his beard. "And then there's the bit where I'm actually the parent. It's my job to watch out for both you boys."

"You do, Dad."

"Except when I don't."

Dean couldn't exactly refute that logic. He reframed. "You try."

John looked more haggard than ever. "I suppose that's something."

"We're all mostly in one piece and we made it home in time for Christmas." Dean wanted to erase the rare look of defeat on his father's face. It was enough to bring a flash of that first Christmas without their mom, the dim depressing motel room, the anguished shell of a man John had been then.

John snorted. "Because I'm all about celebrating the holidays. Santa I am not, Kiddo."

Dean grinned. He'd take some quality time with his dad over jolly old St. Nick any day. "Does that mean I'm not getting the title to the Impala this year?"

"You'll be lucky to get an orange and apple in your stocking, Son." John pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have no doubt your brother will be disappointed."

"Mac and Jim probably have something up their sleeves." Dean didn't mention the telescope he'd had Caleb pick up or the new soccer cleats and jersey. "The Pastor is all about the presents."

"So was your mom." A smile revealed his father's deep dimples, the same ones Sam had inherited. Dean wasn't sure what surprised him more the unusual easy grin or the fact his father had spoken of Mary Winchester without prompt or prodding. Maybe Mac's mistletoe tea had caused a hallucination. "The woman started buying stuff in July."

Dean stayed quiet, afraid any word on his part might break whatever spell that had fallen over the room and his unusually chatty father.

"You should have seen your first Christmas. It looked like Toys R Us had exploded. It didn't matter that you weren't quite one and you liked the boxes and paper more than what was actually inside. She loved watching you open everything. " All too quickly, the smile faded. Dean knew this rare glimpse into his childhood would soon disappear as well. "She was looking forward to Sam's first, had already hidden a ton of things in the closets she thought I didn't know about."

"I remember the football the year before," Dean said in a desperate attempt to keep the door open, just a bit longer. "The promise that came with it."

"That was your mom's idea." The memory seemed to do the opposite of what Dean hoped. He could almost feel the shift in mood, the impenetrable walls around his father's heart start to slide back into place.

"She gave me the greatest gift a guy could get." Dean wasn't talking about the football, and although he didn't say it, Dean knew his father understood he meant Sam.

"Same here, Ace." John reached out and squeezed Dean's wrist. "Twice."

Dean was almost convinced he was indeed still asleep, possibly dreaming, until the sound of pounding feet and Scout's sharp bark heralded Sam and Caleb's arrival into the room. Atticus yipped, stood up on the bed.

Caleb and Sam stopped just inside the doorway, both breathing hard. Their cheeks were red and Dean noted they were wearing winter coats. Gone were the t-shirts, replaced with gloves and scarves. It appeared The Beira had made good use of her staff since having it back.

"What's wrong?" Sam's concerned look soon turned to one of befuddlement as he took in the scene with Dean and their dad. Scout was not thwarted by John Winchester's rare touching bedside vigil. She passed both boys to jump on the bed where she usurped Atticus to ravish Dean with her tongue. The black Labrador was cold and damp with what Dean thought might be quickly melting snow flakes.

Caleb took a tentative step towards the bed, looking from John to Dean as he tossed his coat on the chair. "You okay, Deuce?"

"What's with all the running in the house?" John eased his hand from Dean's folding his arms over his chest as he turned on the bed to address his youngest son and protégé. "You two still in need of some maneuvers after your hike into the woods?"

"Caleb said Dean was awake," Sam moved to stand beside Caleb. He met Dean's gaze.

Dean smirked at his brother, happier than he would admit to seeing the kid was in one piece. "For once, Damien was right."

"Of course I was right." Caleb's concern gave way to a grin. He took the chair by the bed. "Glad you decided to rejoin us, Deuce."

"He said you called out for him." Sam punched Caleb in the shoulder as he found a perch on the arm of the Queen Anne and slid out of his jacket. He took off his gloves and shoved them in the coat's pocket. "We ran all the way here because he was worried."

John studied the younger hunter. "Weren't you in the back forty with Jim?"

Dean was glad for his father's redirection, not wanting to dwell on the fact he had unknowingly reached out for his best friend during the nightmare. Under the influence of Mac's tea or not, it was embarrassing. Dean was not some scared five-year-old who needed the older boy's protection.

Caleb took his intense gaze from Dean to glance at John. "I figured Bobby could handle the tree the rest of the way. Sammy and I did all the hard labor cutting it down."

"I think he just wanted to get back in time for his date." Sam grinned at Dean.

"Date?" Dean frowned. "Damn, Damien. Don't tell me you hooked up with some other chick besides the Ice Princess?"

"It's with Hollis." Sam bobbed his eyebrows.

"Shut up, Runt." Caleb shoved Sam, knocking him off the chair's arm. Scout barked in delight at the horseplay. "I'm just buying the guy a drink. Your kid brother's the one getting presents from him."

"Caleb's just mad he can't read my mind now." Dean watched his brother touch an unfamiliar bracelet on his wrist. It was made of thickly braded black leather bearing a stone Dean recognized as snowflake Obsidian. "I know what Mac got him for Christmas and it's killing him."

Caleb scoffed. "Like some jinxed jewelry is going to stop me."

"Hollis said its triple warded." Sam turned to Dean, pulling a similar necklace from beneath his shirt. "He gave me this, too. I'm currently in a total Caleb-free zone."

"Wow," Dean looked at Caleb, noting the eye roll that was very Sam-like. His best friend might pretend at nonchalance, but Dean understood what it meant for a hunter outside their inner circle to make such a gesture of confidence. "You and Newberry must have bonded if he doesn't think he needs his Kryptonite against your freaky mind powers anymore, and you're springing for rounds. Should I be worried about my best friend status?"

"Don't be jealous, Deuce. It's just a beer."

"With someone who is actually of legal drinking age for a change," John said, shooting first Dean then Caleb one of his typical dark looks. 'If you ask me Junior needs a few more grown up friends."

"Says the guy who saddled me with nanny duties all those years ago. It's not like I asked to be your kids' life-long babysitter."

"Hey! We're not babies," Sam spoke up realizing the insult. Dean had the urge to second his brother's disgruntlement, but realized just how the declaration might be used as a point against his maturity level. He was satisfied to send a few silent lewd suggestions his best friend's way. Thankfully, Dean's thoughts were not currently in a psychic free zone if Caleb's sharp laugh was any indication.

"Right now I'm more concerned with what other duties you're currently shirking, soldier." John stood, gestured to Sam and Caleb. "The decorations aren't going to get themselves out of the attic boys."

"I thought Pastor Jim gave you that job." Sam folded his arms over his chest, mocking his father's earlier fowl glower.

"I'm delegating. It's what the guy with the stripes does." John gripped his youngest son's shoulder. Despite the order, Dean recognized the lighter tone, the one that hinted their father's rare good mood might continue. "Besides, your brother needs his rest if he's going to be up for any Christmas Eve festivities."

"But you're better, right?" Sam stood, moving to the side of the bed where he stared down at Dean once more.

"I'm good, Little Brother." Despite all of Sam's claims of being on his way to adulthood, Dean still caught flashes of the kid who feared the unthinkable, the boy who insisted on holding Dean's hand at bedtime and who had followed him around like the proverbial shadow for the first ten or so years of his life. Dean lifted his fist, held it out to his brother. "Thanks for being on your game while I was out of it. You did good for a rookie."

The color in Sam's cheeks deepened redder than they were when he'd first come in from the weather, but he bumped his knuckles against Dean's. "I'm just glad you're not cold anymore."

"All's back to normal," Dean assured. "I'm once again the hottest Winchester as it should be."

"Maybe you're right, Dad." Sam pulled his hand away, turning to his father. "I think he's still delusional."

"If he thinks he's the best looking man in this family then I'll have to agree." John gave Sam a push towards the door. Scout jumped down to follow. "Maybe we should see if Mac has any more of that tea to give him."

"No more tea," Dean called after his family as they left the room. He winced as the shouting caused a tug on his side. He leaned back on the pillows, and glanced up at Caleb with a pained grimace. He was not above using his current situation as an advantage. "How about it, Damien? Hot chocolate? Please?"

"Seriously?" Caleb moved from the chair to take the spot on the bed Dean's dad had vacated. Atticus stepped across Dean to wedge his body as close to the older hunter as possible. "After all those nasty things you said to me earlier. "

"Technically, I didn't say anything." Dean smirked. "You should know better than to read my mind without permission."

"True." Caleb conceded, running a hand over Atticus's head, the old Retriever rolling over to offer his belly for a rub. "Since we're being so honest with each other, how are you really feeling?"

"I thought my feelings about you came across loud and clear?" Dean tried for a redirection. Caleb's narrowed gaze proved his friend wasn't about to let him off the hook. "I'm okay. Really. No permanent damage."

"And the bad dream…"

Dean shook his head. "Was just a dream."

I'm sorry I wasn't here." Caleb sighed. "My timing really has sucked on this gig."

"Dude, you saved my life." Dean realized his reassurances weren't going to work as easy on Caleb as they had Sam. Dean didn't know if it was a psychic thing or an older sibling thing. Maybe a bit of both. "You were there when it counted. Besides, you're not on bad dream duty. It was nothing."

"Still…" Caleb obliged Atticus by scratching his chest in a way that had the dog's back foot thumping wildly. "I was keeping tabs on you until Johnny ordered me to help with the tree."

"That why you look like death warmed over?" Caleb often took his duties as protector to the extreme, though Dean understood calling his best friend out on the nasty habit would make him quite the hypocrite. If Dean had an ability to protect Sam from the dark things that found them in their sleep he would have become an insomniac years ago. "You've been standing psychic watch?"

"Mac said the tea might have some hallucinogenic properties." Caleb shifted his focus to Atticus's ears, much to the dog's delight. He glanced at Dean. "And you were hurting enough as it was."

"Drugs don't always mix well with our past traumas." You didn't live through what they did on a daily basis and not rack up on a back log of repressed feelings. Cramped motel rooms and thin-walled farm houses from the 1800's didn't leave much to the imagination when it came to knowing each other's personal demons.

"That's why I always told you to 'Just say No'."

"I listened." Dean grinned when Caleb arched a brow. "Mostly."

"With you Winchesters, I guess that's the most a guy can really expect."

"Pot meet Kettle." Dean pointed to Caleb. "Following orders has never been your strong suit, Damien. To hear Dad tell it you consistently set a bad example for me."

"I do everything Johnny tells me." Caleb grinned and it was Dean's turn to raise a questioning brow. Caleb slapped his leg. "Mostly."

"Right."

"Which is why I suppose I will sneak you a mug of Jim's Christmas cheer before I head out with Newberry." Caleb gave Atticus a final rub down and stood. "That is if you plan on staying awake for a while and my services won't be needed."

"I'm good, Dude." Dean had no doubt he could show the least bit of hesitation and Caleb would cancel on Hollis to sit bedside with him, to do what he could to vanquish any residual bad memories that might be lurking. Dean could admit there was the slightest temptation to do just that, especially after his Dad's remark about Caleb finding more friends his own age. "Go hang out with Lois Lane."

"Keep that up and I'll skip the kitchen run." Caleb made a move towards the door, but then turned back around. "Did I mention Jim went on a baking frenzy while we were waiting for you to thaw out?"

"Please tell me there are sugar cookies." Some of Pastor Jim's best recipes were born during times of stress and worry. The Guardian was never quicker to don an apron and chef's hat as when one of his boys was in peril and he felt useless to help.

"With three different kinds of sprinkles," Caleb said.

"Finally something good comes from my Arctic experience."

"That and Sam's white Christmas." Caleb nodded towards the window. "It's snowing with no signs of stopping. He thinks the Beira is expressing her gratitude."

"Or maybe Santa does exist, Damien." Dean petted Atticus who had stretched his long body near him once more.

Caleb snorted. "Maybe Hollis and I will run into Heidi Klum and a bunch of her modeling friends at the Watering Hole in New Haven."

"Well, it is almost your birthday," Dean tossed out, knowing he could be opening the door for Caleb's yearly rant about sharing his big day with Christmas. "You could make your wish early."

Caleb folded his arms over his chest. "Didn't we have this conversation, oh, I don't know about twelve years ago?"

"You mean the one where you crushed the hopes of a five year old?" Dean sighed, unable to resist making his best friend squirm. "I've never been the same you know."

"I remember that heart to heart a little differently, Deuce. I was protecting you." Caleb started for the door once more, obviously over the game.

"Just what all the soul destroyers say," Dean called out.

"Speaking of soul destroyers…" His friend stopped at the door, turning to look at Dean once more. His face was serious now, reflecting worry like it had when he and Sam had first come in. "I meant to ask you about that little moment Sam and I interrupted. You and Johnny looked pretty intense. I hope he wasn't giving you a hard time over the hunt because if that was the case..."

"No, man," Dean interrupted before Caleb got the wrong idea. There was enough tension between his father and Sam now that Sam was verging into the teen years. He didn't want to add Caleb mouthing off to the mix. "Believe it or not we were talking about Christmas."

Caleb leaned against the door frame, his forehead screwed up as if he was trying to determine if Dean was pulling his leg. "Because Johnny is all about the holidays."

"Really. We were talking about the best presents we had ever gotten."

"Presents, huh," Caleb pushed away from the door.

Dean nodded. "Favorite gifts."

"That's easy." Caleb's scowl softened as he regarded Dean. "Hands down best gift I ever got was a bag of M&M's."

He didn't give Dean a chance to respond, turning and leaving before Dean could form a coherent thought. The M&M's had been the only thing Dean had to offer that first Christmas at the farm so many years ago. He'd almost forgotten about them. What he did recall vividly was the massive amounts of presents Caleb had under the tree that morning, all of which apparently paled with Dean's meager offering.

"Did you hear that, Atticus?" Dean patted the dogs head. Atticus offered a happy grin in return. "You are my only witness because there is no way in hell Damien will ever admit such a thing again. I am Caleb Reaves' happiest Christmas memory."

Dean wasn't surprised. He understood perfectly well. It was a family thing. Becoming a big brother was better than being handed a cape and granted super powers. A guy was transformed, instant hero. It was by far the best gift ever.

The end…for now.