Fic: A Christmas Prayer - chapter 1/1

[mizpah1931]

Title: A Christmas Prayer
Season: Pre-series
Category: General, Action, One Shots
Warnings: Possible schmoop.
Tagline: What do you pray for? I pray for you...
Total Word Count: 4354
Total Chapters: 1
Beta: ziggyuk
Story Banner: Chasidern

This was inspired by a couple of things. One of which was the line in the pilot episode that Dean hadn’t spoken to Sam in two years, which meant that at some stage during Sam’s Stanford years, they had broken contact. Another was the fight between Sam and John which led to Sam leaving for college. I was intrigued as to what it was about, and so I decided to play around with it a bit myself.

Don’t know if I’m entirely happy with the result – I think it probably could have been a bit meatier, given the volatile personalities of the two Winchesters concerned, i.e. John and Sam.

The third thing that inspired me for this one-shot was Sam’s comment in the season two episode Houses Of The Holy, when he told Dean he prayed every day. The little wheels in my freaky brain started turning, wondering where and when he began to pray, since the rest of his family weren’t that way inclined. So I ran with the Stanford years as Sam’s greatest change, and possibly where he started his prayer life. And I’m damned sure Dean would be at or very near the top of the list for Sam’s prayers.

Anyway, hope you enjoy this, my first Christmas fic. Which was inspired by my friend and fellow fanfic writer, Windyfontaine, who put the thought into my head that I should do a Christmas fic....and which kicked off the whole tradition of me doing one every year from then on. Darn plot bunnies....

Sam Winchester ambled along the street, his glove-less hands thrust deep into the pockets of his jeans. The weather was cold, but not the bone-chilling cold that he was used to growing up. For one thing, there was no snow. As he wandered across the deserted campus of Stanford University, he wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Christmas should have snow, he mused to himself, scuffing his boots against the path as he walked. He came to a halt, his eyes straying to the few dormitory windows that were lit. Soft light spilled out across the hushed ground, highlighting his handsome face with its high cheekbones and sensitive mouth. His expression turned wistful as he saw candles and tinsel in a few of the windows. His own tiny room was on the other side of the building, its window devoid of decorations, its light switched off as its occupant wandered the campus, alone.

Sam dropped his gaze, gave a soft sigh, and resumed his walk. He had been at Stanford a few months now, and he’d found it hard to fit in. A lifetime of moving from place to place and hiding his identity had made it difficult for him to make friends. The young hunter kept mostly to himself, concentrating on his studies, resigning himself to the fact that a social life was what normal people had. He’d always been a freak, even in his own family. He’d been disappointed to find that even in the real world, he was still a freak. Wondering bleakly whether he’d ever fit in anywhere, Sam wandered across the massive campus, not really caring where his feet took him.

The faint strains of organ music came to his ears, and he stopped, looking up in mild curiosity. In the distance, the towering façade of the Memorial Church gleamed in the darkness, its welcoming lights sending out a soft glow into the night. Sam glanced at his watch, shaking his wrist as he pressed the button for the tiny light built into the watch face. The light blinked, came on, and went out, refusing to come back on no matter how hard he pressed the button. Sam gave an annoyed huff, and turned the face of the watch toward the glow of a nearby streetlamp to read the time. It was almost 9pm – time for the late evening service, according to the campus announcements. Resting a long fingered hand on his hip, Sam contemplated the arched entryway of the old church, feeling himself inexplicably drawn toward the glowing lights and the sounds of the choir singing Oh, Come, All Ye Faithful.

The church was three quarters full, and the young hunter glanced around as he slipped into the last pew on the left hand side of the church. He felt a tug at his heart as he saw the scattered groups of couples and families. Only a small handful of people were alone, like himself, and he found his thoughts turning to his family as the service began, wondering where they were, and if they were okay. He’d heard nothing from either his dad or his brother since the night he’d left. As the reverend launched into his Christmas message, Sam laced his fingers together until the knuckles went white, lost in the memories that flooded his mind.

*     *     *     *     *

John glanced impatiently at his youngest son as he threw the Impala’s keys down on the tiny motel table. “Why aren’t you checking the weapons? We pull out for Wisconsin in a few hours.”

Sam looked up, swallowing nervously. “Dad…”

“Get going, Sam – no more of your excuses.” Shrugging out of his heavy jacket, John threw it over the back of a chair and rubbed his hand across his face. “Where’s your brother?”

“He went to get some dinner. Dad,” Sam slowly rose from the bed where he’d been sitting cross-legged, a long white envelope in his hands. “I gotta talk to you…”

“Hope you’ve done your research instead of mooning around, boy. These water-wraiths are tricky,” John muttered testily.

“Dad – will you just listen to me for once!” Sam yelled in frustration.

The Winchester patriarch halted in the middle of the room, turning slowly to face his youngest child, a scowl forming on his face. “Mind your tone.”

Sam drew in a deep breath. “I’m not going to Wisconsin.”

“Yes, you are. We need all hands on this hunt, Sam.”

“Dad…” The young hunter raked his fingers through his hair, pushing the longs back from his eyes. With a shaking hand, he held out the envelope he’d been studying when his father had walked in. “I’ve been accepted to Stanford University. I start in a few weeks.”

John’s eyes narrowed as the motel room door opened. “You what?”

Sam’s soft hazel eyes darted from his father to his brother, who had halted just inside the door. “I – I’ve been – accepted – into Stanford.”

Dean froze, his gaze on his father’s stiff back. The tension rose in the small room.

Snatching the envelope from his son’s trembling fingers, John pulled out the single sheet of paper and quickly scanned it. His scowl deepened as he got to the end of the letter. “And just when were you gonna tell me about this, Sam?”

Sam licked his suddenly dry lips. “I…”

“What the hell were you thinking, boy?” John waved the letter at his youngest son, unaware of his eldest child standing behind him, a stricken look in his wide green eyes. “Well, you can’t go, and that’s the end of it.”

“I can’t…” Sam’s jaw dropped in astonishment. “Why?”

“Because we need you here.” Dropping the letter on the table, John turned back to the weapons bag he’d left beside the door, noticing Dean for the first time. “Get the stuff ready. We leave in two hours.”

Dean swallowed, glanced swiftly at his brother, and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Move, Dean! You too, Sam. Get our stuff packed.” John gazed sternly at his rebellious son. “I said move!”

“No.” Sam shook his head. “I told you – I’m not going.”

“And I said you are.”

“Dad – this is my future! What right do you have…”

“Hunting is your future! We need you here!” John’s hands curled into fists as he faced his son. “Now do as you’re told and get the stuff packed!”

“No! This isn’t my future, Dad – this isn’t what I want for my life!” Sam spread his hands from his sides. “Why won’t you listen to me! I hate this life! I hate the lies, and the scams, and I hate hunting! I want to make something of myself – have a real life, instead of moving from one place to the next and disappearing like a friggin’ ghost!”

“You watch your mouth!” The bearded hunter strode swiftly across the room, grasping his son’s arms and giving him a short, savage shake. “I’m still the head of this family, and you will obey me!”

“I’m over eighteen – I can do whatever the hell I want! I don’t need your permission!” Sam pulled free of his father’s grip, his eyes blazing. “I’m doing this, with or without your approval!” Over his father’s shoulder, Sam could see his big brother, his heart clenching as he saw the look of hurt cross Dean’s face.

John’s voice grew cold. “Are you?” He stood, anger coursing through his frame, his dark eyes narrowed. Striding back to the table, he snatched up the letter, crushing it in his hand as he glared at his son. Flinging the wadded up paper at the young man, he growled, “If you’re that set on going, then go! But if you walk out that door, you stay gone. You want to turn your back on this family – fine. Get out! Go have your perfect life!”

The crushed up ball of paper hit Sam in the centre of his chest, bounced off, and fell to the floor. His mouth dropped open in stunned surprise as he stared at his father. “What?”

“You walk out that door, you just keep goin’. Don’t come back.” John turned his back and jammed his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

Dean opened his mouth as he took one step forward, his right hand held palm out in a pleading gesture. His father’s savage glare silenced the young hunter, and he hesitated, his hand falling by his side. His worried gaze flicked across the room to his little brother.

Sam stood for a long moment, staring at the floor, and the crumpled letter from Stanford. Slowly, he bent down, picked up the ball of paper and straightened it out. The faint crackling of the paper was the only sound in the tension-filled room. Carefully folding the letter, Sam shoved it into his jeans pocket. He turned away, his shoulders stiffening, his eyes bright with unshed tears, and began stuffing his few belongings into his battered duffle.

The youngest Winchester swung his duffle onto his shoulder and strode to the door. Raising his head, he gazed pleadingly into his brother’s face, before pushing past without a word, slamming the door behind him. He pressed his lips into a tight line, forcing the tears back as he trudged through the night toward the bus station, remembering the anger in his father’s eyes, and the hurt in his brother’s. He felt like his heart had just been ripped in two. Conflicting emotions roiled in his gut – anger and frustration at his father for not understanding, hurt over being thrown out, disappointment in his brother for not coming to his defence, and a tiny hint of fear at facing the big bad world completely on his own.

For Sam’s entire life, he had always had his big brother. Dean had kept the school bullies at bay, stood between Sam and the monsters in the closet, and as he grew older, between him and the things they hunted. Dean had been the one constant in an ever-changing world. And now that was all gone – he was leaving that safety behind. For a moment, Sam held his breath as his heart raced, wondering if he was doing the right thing in leaving his family. And then he remembered his father’s harsh words, and he squared his shoulders as his pace increased. This was his only choice – his only chance at a normal life. He had to try.

A dull, throaty rumble reached his ears, growing steadily louder. Sam halted, turning his head as the black Chevy pulled up beside him. His big brother leaned across the seat and pushed the passenger door open.

“Get in,” Dean muttered tersely.

Sam settled onto the seat, dropping his bag in his lap as he closed the door. The engine growled as Dean stepped on the gas and headed for the bus station. An uneasy silence fell over the brothers. Dean’s gaze was fixed on the road revealed in the bright swathe of the headlights. Sam stared out at the darkness, not knowing what to say to his sibling. Finally, the Chevy swung off the road and coasted to a halt. The engine died, ticking in the silence as it cooled.

Dean shifted uneasily, draping his arm across the seat back. He glanced at his brother, before turning to face the bus parked near the entrance to the low, single storey building. “You sure about this?”

Sam swallowed the growing lump in his throat. “Yeah.”

Shrugging, the elder brother reached into his jacket pocket for his wallet. He opened it, pulled out a small pile of notes, folded them in half, and handed them to his little brother.

“Dean, I…”

“Take it. You’ll need it more than me.” Dean flipped the wallet closed and shoved it back into his pocket. He chewed on his lower lip, keeping his gaze on the view through the windshield.

Sam hefted his bag, pushed the door open, and slid one foot onto the asphalt parking lot. Turning to his brother, he took a shuddery breath. “Dean, I – I’m…”

Dean gazed into his little brother’s expressive eyes, reading the unspoken words like they were printed on a page. Finally he gave a ghost of a smile, and nodded. “Yeah, I know. Me, too.”

When the bus pulled out an hour later, the black Chevy was still sitting there, its driver gripping the wheel as he stared out through the windshield.

*    *    *    *    *

A gentle hand on his shoulder brought Sam back to the present with a start. He stared at the kindly face of the reverend, blinking rapidly as he tried to gather his scattered thoughts. “Uh, sorry – what – what did you say?”

The reverend smiled. “I said, it must have been quite a thought-provoking sermon, young man. You’re the last one here.” He swept a hand toward the empty church.

“I’m – I’m so sorry – I must have…” Sam trailed off into silence as he raised a hand to his face, mortified to find the damp tracks of tears on his cheeks. He dropped his head, letting his bangs hide his eyes as he struggled for control.

Leaning against the end of the pew, the reverend reached out and laid a fatherly hand on the young student’s shoulder. “Want to talk about it, son?”

Sam mutely shook his head, not trusting his voice enough to speak.

“Well, then, if you can’t talk to me, what about someone else?” The elder man looked over at the statue of Jesus at the front of the church. “Tell me, do you pray, son?”

“Uh, no – no, sir. Not really,” Sam whispered.

“Can I ask why? If it’s not a rude question. I mean, you did come to church, after all.”

“I, uh – guess – I don’t – don’t know how.”

Smiling, the reverend looked down at the dark head. “It’s easy – just talk to God like you would to your own father.”

Sam’s lips twisted bitterly. “Yeah, right.” He glanced up, realising that he’d been a little rude. “Um – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“I see,” the reverend interrupted quietly. He patted Sam’s shoulder in sympathy. “Well, how about we try something else, hmm? How about you talk to Him like you want to talk to your own father? You can ask Him for anything – tell Him anything. He’ll listen, trust me.”

“All right – guess I could try.” Sam chewed on his lower lip as the clergyman straightened up.

“How about I give you a few minutes? I’ll be up front if you need me.”

Sam watched the grey-haired man walk up the aisle toward the pulpit. He cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and clasped his hands together, nervously twisting his fingers. Uh, well – hi, God – it’s me, Sam Winchester. Uh – guess I’m not very good at this crap – I mean, this stuff. Sorry. Sam shook his head, an embarrassed grin tugging at his lips. Taking a deep breath, he tried again. Okay, well – I guess I – I really don’t know what to say. I mean – do I ask you for something, ‘cause that would be – I mean, I’ve never done this, so I guess it would be kinda bad to ask for somethin’ straight away. But – if it’s all right, then…

Shifting a little on the hard pew, Sam frowned, clasping his hands tighter as he pictured his brother’s face. I guess, if it’s all right with you – if you could look out for my brother, Dean. He’s a hunter – but I guess you know that, right? Thing is, I – what I mean is – God – I – could you – I just want to know that he’s okay. Dad and me, we had this huge fight, and I – if I call, Dad might answer. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to Dad – it’s just – we’ll probably just end up arguing, and I don’t want to keep fighting. I just – I just want to talk to my brother, you know? I wish he’d call – or come by. I just want to see him.  Just to know that he’s doing all right. That’s all. Oh, and my Dad, too. He gets pretty obsessed about stuff, so if you don’t mind, if you could look out for my Dad, too. Um – amen.

Shaking his head slightly, Sam got to his feet, pulled at his jacket, and glanced at the front of the church as he stepped into the aisle.

The reverend looked up as he heard the slight noise, and he smiled at the tall young student, waving a hand in farewell. “Merry Christmas, young man. God bless.”

Sam smiled back. “Merry Christmas, sir.” He walked slowly to the door, looked around the old church, and rested a hand on the wall as he turned. “Thank you,” he added softly, before disappearing into the night.

A light breeze had sprung up, and Sam shivered, pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders. He looked around, hope in his eyes, and his tall frame slumped in disappointment as he saw the empty street. There was no familiar black Impala miraculously waiting for him outside the church. Chiding himself a little for having such false hope, Sam began the long walk back along the road toward his dorm room.

A faint rumble came to his ears, and he halted, his eyes eagerly scanning the dark roads as the sound drew closer. He held his breath in anticipation, and he blew out a sigh as a Mustang came into view, roaring past him in a cloud of exhaust smoke. Sam coughed, fanning a hand in front of his face as he resumed his interrupted journey.

Rounding the corner into the street that housed his dorm room, Sam hunched his shoulders against the chill, and quickened his pace, eager to get inside where it was warm. He figured the temperature was around forty-seven degrees, with the wind chill factor a few degrees below that. He glanced up the street out of habit, slamming to a halt as he noticed the midnight black Impala parked outside his dorm, a familiar tall figure leaning against the trunk.

Hearing footsteps approaching, Dean glanced up, a grin tugging at his lips as he saw the lanky form of his little brother. The grin faded as the younger man stopped in his tracks, and Dean felt a pang as he saw his brother’s tense stance. He pursed his lips, pushed off the car, and strolled nonchalantly toward the young hunter, wondering if he’d made a huge mistake in coming by. “Hey.”

Sam’s eyes were wide with shock. He shook his head in disbelief as his brother approached. “I don’t believe it.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I was just...” Praying that you’d be here.

Dean’s eyebrows rose. “Just what?”

Clearing his throat, the younger man shifted from foot to foot, a faint blush highlighting his cheekbones. “Uh – I was just – thinkin’ about – you – and – and Dad.” Maybe there’s somethin’ in this praying gig, after all.

“Yeah?” Silently releasing the breath he’d been holding, Dean smirked, as he looked his sibling up and down. “Jeez, Sammy – if you get any taller, someone’s gonna mistake you for Bigfoot and throw a net over you.”

“Thanks – nice.” Sam relaxed, a grin lighting his face. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey – it’s your first Christmas away from home. Thought I’d drop by and see how you were doin’.” Dean shrugged, trying for the casual approach. “I thought I’d have a long wait, since you were probably out partyin’ with your new friends.”

“Yeah,” Sam muttered, his eyes shifting away from his brother as he scratched the back of his head.

Dean caught the fleeting expression on his sibling’s face. A frown briefly creased his brow. He could read his baby brother like a book, and that look told Dean that Sam hadn’t been having an easy time of it. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he drew out a tiny, newspaper wrapped cylinder. “Merry Christmas, Sammy.”

“It’s Sam,” the young student corrected automatically. His smile returned as he was handed his present. Tearing off the newspaper from the end of the cylinder, he tipped it upside down, catching the pen that slid out of the end. Holding it up to the light, the young hunter discovered a picture of a bikini-clad girl on the side of the pen. “Thanks.”

“Hold it in your hand for a minute,” Dean instructed. He watched as his brother wrapped his hand around the casing of the pen. “Okay, now look.”

Sam opened his hand, and blushed to the roots of his hair. The warmth of his hand had caused a thermal reaction, the bikini fading until the girl was completely naked. He shook his head as his big brother chuckled. “Dean!”

“What?” Dean spread his hands, plastering an innocent look on his handsome face. “Hey, you’ll be the envy of your classmates.”

“I don’t think so, but – thanks.” Sam scuffed his boot toe against the pavement. “I haven’t got you anything – if I’d known you were comin’ out, I could have…”

“It’s okay.”

“So – how long are you staying?”

“Got to pull out in a few minutes. I’m on a job.”

“Oh, right. Where’s Dad?”

“He’s on his way there. We got a poltergeist in Kittanning, Pennsylvania.” Dean pursed his lips thoughtfully as he studied his sibling. “Hey, why don’t you come with me?”

“I – I can’t.” Sam shuffled his feet as he waved a hand at the sprawling campus. “This is my life now.” 

“You’re really goin’ through with this Joe College gig?” Come back with me, Sammy…

“Yeah, I am.” Sighing softly, Sam looked at his brother. “It’s my future, Dean.” I can’t – I’m done with hunting…

The elder man dropped his gaze to the sidewalk for a few moments, his emotions in turmoil. Summoning up his trademark smirk, Dean shoved his hand into his jacket pockets. “Yeah. Well, I gotta hit the road, so…”

Don’t go yet… “Hey – you want to go get a coffee, or something, before you go?” Sam’s eyes glistened in the faint light.

I have to go  – I gotta let you live your life… “Nah – I gotta get going. Gotta meet up with Dad in a few days, and he’ll kick my ass if I’m late.” Dean gazed solemnly at his brother.

“Sure.” Sam nodded jerkily, pressing his lips together to stop their trembling. He took a deep breath. “Dean, I - uh…”

Dean gazed into his brother’s expressive eyes, reading the thoughts Sam was trying to express. He smiled crookedly as he reached out and lightly punched his sibling on the shoulder. “Yeah, me too. I’ll see you, Sammy.”

Sam trailed his sibling to the car, standing silently as he watched his brother put the key in the ignition.

Glancing up at his brother, Dean pressed his lips together in a tight line, and picked up a small, oblong parcel wrapped in silver paper from the seat beside him. He balanced it on his hand for a few seconds, before stretching across the seat and handing it out the window to his puzzled brother. “Sammy?”

“Yeah?” Sam leaned toward the open window, clutching the parcel tightly.

“You take care of yourself.” Raising a hand in a mock salute, Dean grinned faintly, and gunned the engine.

“You, too.” Sam stepped back, watching as the black Chevy rumbled down the road, its taillights flaring briefly as it turned the corner. Slowly, he walked into his dorm, his boot heels echoing hollowly on the worn wooden steps as he made his way to the second floor. Shutting the door softly behind him, he flicked on the lamp over his desk and settled cross-legged on the bed. Sam carefully picked at the end of the parcel, not wanting to tear the wrapping paper.

The end came open, and a small black box slid out. Frowning, Sam opened it, and gasped as the soft light caught what lay inside. He picked up the brand new silver wristwatch from its velvet-lined case, holding it to the light. A scrap of white paper fluttered from the back of the watch, and the young hunter picked it up, his brows drawing together in a faint frown.

Sam turned the note over, recognising Dean’s bold flowing handwriting. He read the brief line, and his vision blurred as tears stung his eyes. Carefully folding the tiny note, he pulled out his wallet and tucked the scrap of paper safely inside. He took off his old watch, fastened the new one around his wrist, wiped a hand across his face, and stared out into the night as he flipped his cell phone open.

“Hey.”

“Dean – it’s – it’s great. Thanks.”

“Merry Christmas, Sammy.”

“Merry Christmas, Dean.” Sam held the phone to his ear long after the call disconnected, his eyes on the shining silver watch, his mind seeing the four little words on the note he’d stowed in his wallet – four little words that meant the world to him – ‘I’m proud of you’.

Sam squared his shoulders as he took a deep breath. Running his fingers over the wristband of the brand new watch, he smiled gently. Vowing to never make his brother regret those words, Sam got up, turned out the light, and undressed in the dark. Sliding under the covers, he rolled onto his side facing the window, sending another prayer out into the darkness. God – thanks – thanks for my brother.

Flipping over onto his back, he pulled his left arm out from under the covers, and checked the luminous dial of the new watch, reading the time easily. He grinned as he closed his eyes and settled down to sleep, his thoughts turning to the new year’s classes, and a beautiful blonde girl he’d spotted on campus. Maybe it was time to embrace the new life he’d chosen. “Hey, God?” he whispered softly. “Can I ask for one more thing? Can you give me the nerve to ask Jessica Moore out on a date?”

End