Hello all! Merry Christmas! This story has been nagging at me for awhile and since i feel like something is missing when I'm not posting stories, I decided now was a good time to publish this one. Set sometime after Phantom Traveler, so nice and early in season one. Enjoy!

Two AM, Christmas Eve 2005
Arizona

Sam knew that he had only about a minute and a half left before he was going to be discovered. His pulse was pounding loudly in his ears and, despite the stale air conditioning, he was sweating. Looking around, Sam breathed a little easier when he saw he was still alone. For the moment. Staring at the labels, he sighed. Deciphering Latin exorcisms would be easier than trying to make sense out of this mess. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against his eyes. Of course that was the moment when she found him.

"Can I help you?" Her voice was as chipper and perky as the strains of the Chipmunks singing the Christmas Song in the background.

Blinking against the heat and exhaustion, Sam turned to his left and saw the clerk smiling at him. He motioned to the shelves and said, "Um...I guess. I'm not sure..."

"There's a ton of options." She rolled her eyes and said, "I know it can be a bit overwhelming."

Sam nodded, glancing at the shelves again. "I'm not sure what I need..."

"Cold or flu?"

"Um..."

"Symptoms?" The clerk tried again. "Cough? Fever? Nausea?"

"Yeah...and vomiting." Sam grimaced.

She frowned, "Ok. We'll you're gonna need..." Her hands started moving and before he knew what had happened, Sam had a basket full of medicine. She pointed down the aisle, "And you better get some Gatorade or something. Soup. Maybe some crackers."

Sam followed her wordlessly through the deserted store. He was relieved that she seemed to know what she was doing and that she was friendly at least. But her constant talking and the jingling of bells on the radio was making his head throb double time. After what seemed like forever, she finally led him to the register and Sam had never been so grateful to be near a door. The small town drugstore, overly bright for the middle of the night, seemed threatening after spending the better part of a week dealing with a couple of enthusiastic poltergeists.

"Sir?"

"What?" Sam looked up from the counter, realizing all his purchases were neatly bagged and the clerk was holding out her hand. He fumbled for his wallet and handed her a stack of bills without even counting. There was no point in counting. It was every last dollar they had.

"Thanks." Her smile wavered just a bit as she looked at the bills. She chewed her lip, counted them twice, then said, "I'm afraid you didn't quite give me enough..."

"Oh."

"By ten dollars and twenty cents."

Sam swallowed hard, looked at the bags of items and back at the clerk. He didn't have another penny in his pocket, let alone ten dollars and twenty cents. He said, "I...I don't have that. Can we just take back some of the, uh, some of it?"

She blinked at him, still chewing her lip as Nat King Cole crooned in the background and a semi went roaring by outside. Studying him for a long moment, she said, "There isn't exactly anything pointless that you bought, you know. Just food and medicine. And you look like you feel awful..."

"No, I'm ok, it's my brother who's sick..." Sam tried to explain, studying the bags, attempting to figure out what he could do without.

Dean had sent him out to get some food since they literally had only one granola bar left between them. He hadn't sent him to get medicine and Sam knew he was going to hear all about the frivolous purchases when he got back. They had less than a quarter tank of gas and he was spending their last bit of cash on food and medicine. Dean was going to kill him.

He felt trapped and, truth be told, a bit scared. Hating the desperation in his voice, Sam said, "I can just put back some of the...some of it. I don't have any more money."

"Hey."

He looked down and saw her hand on his. His eyes met hers and she said, "It's ok. Look, I've got some cash on me and I'll cover it."

"No, I can't let you..."

"It's done, ok?" She grinned and patted his hand, then straightened up and pushed the bags toward him. "It's not like you overspent on a bunch of cigarettes and liquor. You're out buying medicine for a sick brother on Christmas eve. That's got Christmas spirit written all over it. Helping you out is the least I can do."

Sam nodded slowly, relief flooding him, and smiled. "I really appreciate it."

She beamed at him, "Just think of me as one of Santa's elves." The clerk slid a package of peppermint candy canes into the last bag and winked, "They're complimentary. Tis the season and all."

"Thanks. For everything." Sam said, gathering up the bags.

"Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you too." He smiled and headed for the door.

"Dean?" Sam called out as he walked into the motel room they'd been holed up in for the past six days. "You still alive?"

He heard gut-wrenching vomiting from the bathroom and decided that was the best answer he was going to get. Sam unpacked the bags and spread out the medicine, crackers and bottles of Gatorade on the rickety table. From the sounds of it, Dean wasn't going to be likely to try to swallow anything at this point. Sam looked at the medicine and squinted at the labels, regretting not grabbing some Tylenol. Not that they had money for that. Squeezing his eyes closed, Sam rubbed his forehead and wished the shabby motel had air conditioning. Arizona in December might have been a Snowbird's dream destination, but it was a little warm for his taste. December was supposed to involve snow.

Of course, December was also supposed to involve holiday spirit, family and friends.

Instead of holiday festivities, though, it was two AM on Christmas eve and they were basically stranded in an abandoned motel twenty miles north of the nearest town. He'd spent the last of their money, and some of the clerk's money. While he hadn't exactly had any plans for Christmas, this wasn't exactly a happy alternative. Before they'd arrived in town, he had started to feel like maybe this Christmas wouldn't be as awful as the last few years had been. It sucked to be alone on Christmas and maybe this year he and Dean could at least get some take out and watch a game together. It was better than being alone again. Tears burned against his closed eyes as his thoughts inevitably drifted back to Jessica.

"Sam?"

Dean's hoarse voice drew his attention from his dismal thoughts. Opening his eyes and turning, Sam had to put out a hand to the wall to keep from falling over. Must have taken a harder hit on the head then he'd realized when he'd tumbled down the back steps of the house one of the poltergeists had been haunting. Steadying himself, Sam headed toward the bathroom. The door was open and Dean was still hunched over the toilet. Exactly where he'd left him when he'd run to the store for supplies.

"Dean?"

His brother looked up, face drawn and grey. Dean swallowed hard a few times then asked, "You have enough?"

"Not quite." Sam answered, leaning against the door frame. "Clerk covered the rest. Said it was in the spirit of Christmas."

"Hmm." Dean grunted, then raised an eyebrow, "She cute?"

Sam smiled, "How do you know the clerk was a she?"

Dean narrowed his eyes and said, "She was, wasn't she?"

"I don't know. I wasn't paying attention." Sam said, reaching for a washcloth and running it under some cold water. "I was trying to figure out what to buy so you'd stop puking and heating this place up with your fever."

"I'm too cold to be heating anything up." Dean groaned, reaching for the washcloth and attempting to straighten. He made it a few inches, before lowering his head back towards the toilet.

Sam waited expectantly, but Dean managed not to throw up again. And he looked rather proud of himself when he straightened up and ran the washcloth over his face. After a moment, Dean tossed the washcloth back at Sam, flushed the toilet, and started dragging himself to his feet. Sam grabbed his arm as he wavered unsteadily on his swollen and sore ankle.

"I'm fine." Dean pulled his arm away and limped toward the sink, reaching for his toothbrush; he put all his weight on his left leg to avoid pressure on the one he'd twisted running for his life from a very ticked off ghost earlier in the day.

"Sure." Sam said, keeping one hand ready in case Dean realized he wasn't fine.

Dean had been feeling sick ever since they'd arrived in town to hunt the poltergeists. But he'd pushed through, as always, and it was only this evening, after everything was over, that the flu or whatever, had won out over his stubbornness. Shaking his head, Sam found the movement didn't agree with his aching head and he slammed his eyes closed against the brightness of the vanity lights. Even as dim and dirty as they were, they were aggravating his ever-increasing headache.

"Sam?" Dean asked around his toothbrush. "You alright?"

Nodding, Sam kept his eyes squeezed closed. He reached out and grabbed the edge of the counter as a rush of warmth and dizziness swept over him. Concentrating on his breathing, Sam couldn't quite make out what his brother was saying, but he sounded concerned. Wanting to tell Dean to just give him a minute, Sam realized he didn't dare speak. Because he had the terrible feeling that if he did speak, he was going to lose everything in his suddenly unsettled stomach. Vaguely, he heard the sink shut off and felt Dean's hand gripping his arm, shaking him.

That slight movement was enough to send him stumbling for the toilet, throwing up his supper; probably lunch too. Groaning, he coughed and choked on the hot, nasty mess as it came up. Eyes closed again, Sam pressed a hand to his head as he threw up. Breathing and moving had been irritating enough to his bruised ribs and throbbing head, throwing up was an entirely different kind of hell.

Something cold and wet was pressed against the back of his neck. It felt like heat had been turned up to a hundred degrees in the smelly little bathroom and the cold washcloth helped take it down by a few degrees. Still unable to lift his head for fear he'd end up missing his target the next time his stomach decided to reject more of its contents, Sam tried to slow his breathing and regain some control.

"This could be a problem, you realize?" Dean said, readjusting the washcloth on Sam's neck.

Sam moaned and let his head rest on his forearm, not daring to open his eyes yet to look at Dean. He heard his brother moving and realized he had sat down on the nasty linoleum next to him, back against the sink. Still unable to speak, Sam just waited for his brother to continue.

Dean's laugh sounded strained as he said, "We're gonna have to coordinate so we take turns puking up our guts. Gonna get busy in here I think..."

Sam would have hit him, but he couldn't do anything except raise his head and start throwing up his breakfast. He felt a hand pat him on the shoulder. Opening one eye, Sam glared at Dean and saw both amusement and misery in his brother's eyes. Sam had the distinct feeling that Dean wasn't kidding. As if to confirm his suspicion, Dean spoke up again, voice ragged.

"Seriously, Sammy. It's your turn now, but you gotta wrap that up soon because I can't promise I'm going to be able to miss your head..."

Sam just groaned and threw up again.

It was going to be the worst Christmas ever.

TBC...

Thanks for reading! :)