Chapter 2

"Let us keep Christmas beautiful without a thought of greed, that it might live forevermore to fill our every need, that it shall not be just a day, but last a lifetime through, the miracle of Christmastime that brings God close to you."

-Ann Schultz

New Haven, Kentucky

December 1990

Dean Winchester was seriously regretting having taught his little brother Sam the 'Batman Smells' version of Jingle Bells. If he heard the twisted rendition one more time on the long trek back to the farm in New Haven, he might have to strangle the six year old with his scarf. It made it worse when Pastor Jim joined in for the chorus. There was something wrong about an old person belting out those nonsensical lyrics.

He must have groaned because the pastor took his eyes off the road just long enough to shoot him a wry grin. "Dean, my boy, you're not enjoying our song?"

"It's not the song; it's the singing." Dean slouched further in the passenger seat of Bobby's ancient Tahoe. The pastor had borrowed it for the four wheel drive and extra room they needed for their cargo. Like most of the mechanics piece meal rides, the vehicle was lacking on the amenities. The heat was non-existent and Dean was grateful Jim insisted he bring one of Damien's out grown ski jackets he'd left at the farm. He fixed his eyes on the wintry scene outside. Snow was falling harder, rushing towards the headlights in big fat flakes-the kind that stuck to your lashes making it hard to blink.

"I'll have you know I am one of the shining stars of our choir." Jim returned his gaze to the narrow, winding road that wrapped its way like twisting garland around Viking Mountain. The pastor had taken his own advice. Bundled in his barn coat and boots, red scarf and matching hat, he looked like Farmer Santa, which was appropriate considering the task they had undertaken.

"Doesn't the congregation have to let their pastor sing?" Dean was not feeling particularly charitable. "Besides, I don't think this tune will make it into any of your hymn books."

"The Bible says make a joyful noise unto the, Lord." It seemed Jim's good mood refused to be dampened, not by Dean's attitude nor by the fact the snow storm slated for Christmas Eve moved in earlier than expected. "I rather believe He is not picky about what we sing, as long as the message in our heart is pure."

"Sam obviously agrees with you." Dean glanced to the backseat where his geeky brother was singing away, eyes glued to the darkened skies beyond his window. Dean didn't know if Sam was watching the snow or searching the stars for signs of Santa's sleigh even though Christmas Eve was a day away. "So you can spare the Christmas propaganda, Jim. He's not listening."

Jim drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music. "I don't believe Samuel is the one in need of a little boost of Christmas Spirit this season."

"That why you dragged me away from the farm and on this missionary trip with you?" The pastor had woken them at the break of dawn to help deliver shoe boxes the church had filled for the shut-ins and other needy families in the area. Dean hadn't realized the outreach would take them into the remote mountains of neighboring Tennessee, eating up their whole day. "Nothing says Christmas like the possibility of getting kidnapped by a bunch of redneck hillbillies."

"I don't find that humorous, Dean." Jim flashed him another look, this one not nearly as jovial. His blue eyes had temporarily frosted over like the ice crystals that kept forming on the windshield due to Bobby's faulty defroster.

"Neither will Santa," Sam piped up from the backseat, proving he could simultaneously eavesdrop and sing off key. "He knows everything."

"Then the fat guy knows I'm not exactly worried about impressing him, Sam." Dean shot his brother a warning glare. He only had himself to blame for perpetuating the myth for his brother. Sometimes it was tempting to spill the truth.

"The families we helped today aren't as fortunate as ours," Jim continued, his voice taking on the familiar tone Dean had heard many times from the pulpit. "Christmas is the time to give back the love we have taken all year long. Giving to those who haven't anything is not only a gift to the receiver, but to the one who is blessed enough to provide."

"Sorry, but I'm not feeling really blessed this year either." Dean wasn't about to admit he'd been moved when the families accepted their offerings with such eager appreciation. For a while he'd forgotten about his own troubles, which in his eleven-year-old mind were paramount. Many of the families invited them in, offering a hospitality that cost them in the pride department. Their homes looked like shacks, far worse than any of the dumps Dean's father had rented for them to stay in. The one thing that stood out in Dean's mind was the fact that although obviously poor, most of the families were large and at least all together under one roof for the holidays. None of their dads seemed ready to dash off to a hunt, nor was anyone prepping to jet off to a tropical locale to work on their tan. He was ashamed to say a part of him envied them.

"Dean is probably on the naughty list this year."

"Shut up, Sam."

"It's true." Sam leaned as far forward as his seatbelt would allow. "You've been like the Grinch since Dad left."

"No one asked for your opinion, Cindy Lou Hoo." Dean folded his arms over his chest. "Go back to the dancing lollipops and candy canes in your head and leave me out of your little fanasy."

"He'll be back in time for Christmas Eve, Dean." Sam was undeterred, confident in their father's return for the holiday. Dean knew better, but kept himself in check. "I bet this year will even be better than last Christmas."

"Considering we got kidnapped by crazy Griffin Porter and I almost died from pneumonia last year that should be a given." Dean held back from saying bah humbug.

Jim's sigh was loud and heavy. "I rather hoped the fresh mountain air might improve your countenance." The pastor flashed him another look. "This brooding is uncharacteristic of you, my boy."

"Christmas sucks. I just want it to be over with." Dean brought a gloved hand to his window where he drew a crude rendition of a Christmas tree before placing a large X over it. "The sooner the better."

"I wish it were Christmas all year long," Sam offered. "It's my favorite time of the year."

"Because you get presents." Dean snorted. His brother's list was a mile long. Dean was able to score a couple of the gifts but if Mac and Jim didn't come through, Sam would be severely disappointed.

"No, because everybody's happy." Sam fell back against his seat. "Even Daddy."

"Thanks to Jim's special eggnog." Dean obliterated the frosty tree completely with one vicious swipe of his glove.

"Dean." Jim's took one of his hands from the steering wheel reaching across the bench seat to find Dean's knee. He gave it a firm squeeze. The eleven year old wasn't sure if it was meant to be a reassurance or reprimand. Knowing the pastor, maybe both. "I know you are upset that things have not turned out as you planned, but that's quite enough."

Dean was smart enough to recognize the limits of The Guardian's patience. Jim might have been indulgent, but he didn't tolerate disrespect. "Sorry, Sir."

"I like Jim's hot chocolate better than eggnog," Sam said, not picking up on the tension or perhaps trying to alleviate it. "It has marshmallows."

"I agree completely my boy." Jim gave Dean's knee another squeeze before returning his hand to the wheel. "I believe now would be the perfect time to break out the thermos I filled for emergency purposes. There might even be some left over cookies in the basket we packed."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Are you sure we shouldn't save those in case there's a real emergency." Dean didn't like the way the weather was worsening or the fact they were losing light quicker in the mountains than they would have in the valley that would lead them back to New Haven. Jim had not had the Tahoe over thirty in the last hour. At this rate it would be Christmas Day before they reached the farm. "Like us not making it home tonight?"

"Are we not going home tonight, Jim?" Sam sat up straighter. "What about Atticus and the horses? Who will feed them dinner? And we still have to go cut the Christmas tree in the morning."

"Your brother is teasing, Samuel." Jim arched a brow in Dean's direction. "Perhaps you could use some of that pent up energy to find the picnic basket."

"It was back here with the shoe boxes." Sam reached for his seatbelt, hindered by his bulky mittens.

"No way, Sammy. Keep it on." Dean freed from his shoulder harness, turned so he was facing his brother. "Stay put. I'll get it."

He didn't give Pastor Jim time to reprimand him for leaning over the back of the seat, pushing aside discarded wrapping paper and the empty cartons that were filled with fresh fruit and frozen turkeys when they left the farm.

Dean spotted the wicker basket peaking from beneath one of the coats Jim had managed to keep from the donations. The fact it was nearly brand new, his father's size and style had not been lost on Dean. Jim would make a point of it being a leftover, a shame that it would be discarded if John Winchester didn't claim it for his own. It wasn't charity if it was going to go into the trash.

"Found it." Dean's fingers had just brushed against the handle when Sam screamed.

"Atticus!"

Dean felt the Tahoe jerk. They were sliding, fishtailing as sure as if they'd driven the truck onto the frozen pond at the farm. He whipped around, basket forgotten. Beyond the windshield, framed in Jim's headlights was a big yellow dog similar to Atticus. With all the huge white flakes swirling about, it could have been a statue frozen in a giant snow globe.

"Dean!" Jim flung an arm across him, just as he tugged the wheel to the right. The dog darted to the left, scrambling up the bank and into the forest out of sight. It left Jim a split second to recover before they bounced off the road. In any other weather it might have been enough time. Thanks to the slush and snow they were caught in a trajectory of their own momentum.

Dean was now the character in the snow globe, being roughly shaken about as the Tahoe crashed through the brush with more speed than when they were travelling on the road. He saw the ravine and massive pine trees through a whirl of white. Dean's stomach gave a roller-coaster lurch, before an explosion of light and a blinding pain mercifully spared him the rest of the ride.