Disclaimer: We do not own Supernatural; it belongs to Eric Kripke.

*This chapter written by AnastaziaDanielle.

Authors' Note: For the purpose of this story, John Winchester died in the fall shortly before Christmas.

Home for the Holidays

Chapter One - "Blue Christmas"

The Christmas season – fake trees adorned with lights sparkling in stores, carols playing incessantly over loudspeakers, full parking lots, over-crowded stores - Dean hated it, all of it. This year it seemed as if he despised it even more than usual. He wandered through the busy superstore with his brother and watched as Sam maneuvered the shopping cart around a screaming kid having a tantrum over the toy his mother wouldn't buy.

"I friggin' hate Christmas," Dean snarled after another kid pushing a cart rammed it into the back of his heels and he stumbled into Sam's back.

The mother apologized profusely before dragging her pouting kid and the offending shopping cart with her off to the produce section of the store.

"Stop being such a scrooge," Sam admonished his brother with a tired sigh. Even though their family had never been big on celebrating Christmas since the death of Mary Winchester, the holiday season seemed empty this year after the loss of their father. Sam understood his brother's reaction to the lights, the music, and the crowds; truth be told, he didn't feel like celebrating either. But, Sam was worried about his brother and so he would make an effort on Dean's behalf to celebrate the season and bring some happiness into their lives.

"Screw you, Sam" Dean huffed as he side-stepped a snotty-nosed kid who wasn't watching where he was going.

"Look, Dean," Sam sighed, "we can buy some sliced turkey and some green beans to heat up. I'll buy some rolls from the bakery. We'll watch some movies on TV."

Dean shook his head. "I plan on spending Christmas at the bar stone drunk," the older Winchester replied sullenly.

Sam bit his lower lip and swallowed the words he wanted to throw at his brother just as his phone rang. He tugged it out of the pocket of his jacket and glanced at the caller I.D. before answering it. "Hey, Bobby."

Dean glanced at his brother and moved a little ways down the aisle, staring distractedly at items on the shelf while his brother talked with their friend.

"I don't know….." Sam said hesitantly as he cast a quick glance toward his brother.

Dean couldn't hear the other half of the conversation; maybe Bobby had a hunt he wanted to send them on. Dean brightened at the thought of staying busy for the holiday. Then he realized what Sam was saying and frowned.

"Okay, Bobby, sure we can join you for Christmas day." Sam brushed a hand back through his shaggy bangs and stopped pushing the cart.

Dean scowled at his younger brother's back before poking Sam harshly in the ribs and shaking his head "no."

"Okay, we'll see you soon," Sam smiled, suddenly glad to have someplace to be on Christmas day. He hung up the phone and slid it back into his pocket before looking expectantly at his brother.

"No, Sam," Dean fumed, exasperated with his sibling.

"We'll have a good time," the younger Winchester argued back with his brother. "Bobby is going to cook a turkey and make real cranberry sauce. You'll love it."

"No," Dean replied flatly.

"Too late," Sam smirked. "I already told him yes and I'm not calling him back and disappointing him. Suck it up, Dean."

The older Winchester rolled his eyes and bit back a retort at the hopeful look on his brother's face. He supposed he could suffer through a holiday at Bobby's if it meant that much to Sam.

"Christmas Eve is in three days. If we leave here first thing tomorrow morning, we can be at Bobby's by late afternoon."

Dean scrubbed a hand over his short hair and heaved a heavy sigh. "Fine, but we're buying Bobby liquor for Christmas so he can share it with me."

Sam snorted and headed for the aisle containing the alcohol, Dean following hot on his heels.

Dean tossed and turned most of the night on the lumpy motel mattress. The room's heater groaned miserably every time it came on and startled him from sleep more times than he could count. His mind restlessly wandered toward thoughts of his father and the few Christmases he'd shared with his mother every time he woke. He dreaded the holiday this year; it would only serve to remind him of what he'd lost. He wished for a fast forward button he could push so that he could skip right over Christmas day.

He heard Sam get up at sunrise, but Dean only grunted and rolled over in bed. His little brother took a shower and then scribbled a note on a piece of paper before leaving the small motel room. Dean blindly groped for the paper once Sam left and squinted at his brother's hastily written note. Sam had gone for breakfast.

Dean balled up the piece of paper and tossed it into the trash before slowly rolling out of bed. He grabbed clothes from his duffle and made his way into the bathroom. A hot shower helped to wake him up and soothed aching muscles from recent hunts. When he exited the bathroom a short while later, Sam was seated at the room's small table perusing something on the laptop as he sipped from a cup of coffee. A second cup of coffee and three donuts sat in front of them empty chair at the table.

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean sighed as he sunk down into the chair and bit into a sugary, jelly-filled donut.

"I called Bobby and told him when to expect us," Sam told his brother after a swallow of steaming coffee. "He said they are calling for snow this afternoon and tonight."

Dean winced. "Why can't Bobby move to Florida with sandy beaches and hot chicks in bikinis?"

Sam snickered at the dreamy look that came over his brother's face. "I'll let you try to talk him into that."

Dean started in on his second donut as Sam drained the last of his coffee. "I'll go load the car," Sam informed his brother. "You keep dreaming of those girls in bikinis."

"Bitch," Dean grunted around a mouthful of donut.

"Jerk," Sam teased in return as he tossed a smirk over his shoulder.

They left the hotel a little after eight and stopped for lunch around twelve thirty. The snow started falling around three o'clock, softly at first and then harder the closer they got to Bobby's. Dean's fingers gripped Baby's steering wheel tightly as he peered through the white blur of snow that obscured his view of the road.

Beside him, Sam was tense as he leaned forward in his seat. "Think we should find somewhere to stop?"

"No," Dean grunted as he managed to keep the Impala from swerving to the side of the road as she slid on a patch of ice. "We've made it this far." He knew Sam wanted to spend the holiday at Singer Salvage, and he was determined to make that happen.

It was past eight o'clock before Dean finally turned the car off the road and into Bobby's gravel driveway. They had crawled along at fifteen miles an hour for quite a while now. Both men were on edge and exhausted, but the snow was finally tapering off.

Bobby had the porch light on and was out the backdoor as soon as Dean parked the Impala. "Get on in here, ya idjits. You should have stopped somewhere instead of driving in this weather." He shook his head. "Stubborn fools."

Dean shared a look with Sam over the roof of the car as they both exited the vehicle.

"Well, don't just stand there! I've got supper on the stove," Bobby snapped as he glared fondly at the boys who were like sons to him.

The Winchester brothers followed the older hunter up the sagging steps and into the warm kitchen before divesting themselves of their damp coats. A pot of spaghetti sauce simmered on the stove filling the house with a delicious aroma.

Dean's stomach gurgled loudly as it protested its hunger. "I'm starved, Bobby. Let's eat!"

"Well then, make yourself useful and set the table," Bobby retorted as he gestured to the drawer containing the silverware.

"I'll get the beer," Sam offered as he moved to Bobby's refrigerator. "We can unpack the car after we eat."

Dean ate until his stomach was uncomfortably full. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his belly in satisfaction. "I could eat your spaghetti every night for a week and not get tired of it, Bobby," he praised the older hunter.

"We haven't had home cooking in a long time," Sam added as he cleared his plate of the last bite of pasta.

"Well, the way you two eat I never have leftovers when you're here. I'm planning on turkey for Christmas, but I was thinking of making a big pot of my chili tomorrow. I was going to share some with the family up the road, the Stevensons. The lady's husband died recently; he was a hunter – got turned by a vampire and killed himself before he could hurt his family. It's just her and her boys. This is their first Christmas without him," Bobby explained.

Sam and Dean both grew quiet, thinking of the recent loss of their own father.

Bobby cleared his throat as if realizing where the boys' minds had gone. "Now, I cooked the supper, so you boys need to help me clean up."

"I'll take care of the kitchen," Sam offered. "Dean can go ahead and unpack the car."

Dean nodded and stood, belching. He grinned at his brother. "Thanks, Sammy. I'll go unpack my baby and make sure she's all settled for the night."

Sam just rolled his eyes and began clearing the table.

Dean shrugged into his coat and dug his keys out of the pocket of his jeans. Snapping on the back porch light, he opened the door and stepped out into the freezing weather. He grumbled under his breath about freezing cold weather and the blowing snow as he approached his beloved Impala. "I'm sorry, Baby," he soothed. "I'll get this white crap off of you as soon as the snow stops." Small, icy particles of snow continued to sting Dean's face although the storm had nearly blown itself out.

Dean rounded the car and froze at the sight of the driver's side door slightly open. He knew he had closed it. "What the-?" he muttered, surging forward to check on his car.

As he reached the door, a slender body wriggled itself backwards out of the car. "HEY!" Dean shouted, his feet nearly sliding out from under him in the icy snow.

The intruder, just a child Dean saw now, scrambled as his feet flew out from under him and he fell almost face first into the snow. Shoving to his feet, he tried to run, but the trained hunter was too fast for him. Dean's hand clamped tightly on the boy's shoulder, and he had no intention of letting go.

"Get your hands off me!" the kid screamed shrilly. "I ain't done nothing!"

"Nothing except break into my car, kid," Dean snarled as he continued to grasp the kid's shoulder.

"What's all this racket out here?" Bobby blustered as he stomped out onto his back porch followed by Sam who held a dish towel in his hand.

Sam squinted out into the snow-brightened darkness. "It's a kid," he breathed.

Bobby groaned. "Josh Stevenson, is that you?"

The boy froze in Dean's grasp. He mumbled something under his breath.

"I didn't hear you," Dean grunted, giving the child's shoulder a squeeze.

"Yes, Mr. Singer," the boy sighed audibly.

"Dean, bring him in the house. It's too cold out here, and his mother will be worried sick," Bobby ordered.

Dean marched the kid toward the house and was not surprised when the boy tried to pull away from his grip. Dean held on tightly. This kid had violated Baby.

They stomped up the back steps leaving snowing tracks behind them.

"Where is your hat?" Bobby began fussing at the dark-haired boy in Dean's grasp. "You'll catch your death out here. Get in the house and in front of the fire. Sam, get him some hot chocolate."

Sam nodded and hurried to rifle through Bobby's kitchen cabinets for a package of hot chocolate.

Dean studied the morose young boy standing in front of him. Messy, damp dark hair topped a face with expressive brown eyes and freckles sprinkled across the bridge of the nose. A frown tugged down the corners of the boy's mouth. His nose and cheeks were rosy red from cold.

"Get in front of the fire," Bobby shouted, shooing the kid in front of him into the other room.

Dean followed the duo. "He broke into the Impala," he explained to Bobby as the older hunter wrapped the kid in a blanket and settled him on the end of the couch closest to the fireplace. Dean looked angry enough to spit nails.

"That true, son?" Bobby asked the boy.

"I'm not your son, Mr. Singer," the kid snarled back. "My dad's dead and no one can take his place."

The boy's words struck a chord within Dean and he winced; as a young boy, he had always worried that something would happen to their father and he and Sam would be left alone. But still, Dean reminded himself, this kid had broken into his car.

"What did you need out of my car?" Dean asked as he sat down on the edge of the battered coffee table and stared at the kid.

The boy, Josh, set his jaw in a stubborn pout and refused to say a word. He just curled into a corner of the couch and stared morosely into the fire.

"Let me go call his mom and let her know that he's safe," Bobby sighed. "Then I'll take him home."

Dean nodded and watched Bobby return to the kitchen. He focused his gaze on the boy once again. This kid reminded him of himself at that age – about nine or ten he'd guess. The boy's eyes were full of sadness and lost innocence. He'd seen too much and lost too much at a young age. "Guess I'll have to take you home so I can talk to your mom."

The kid's eyes turned to Dean and remorse flashed briefly in them. Josh sighed and turned his dark gaze back toward the fire.

Anger and resentment poured off the kid in waves. Dean bit back a groan. Dealing with a kid with a chip on his shoulder had not figured into his Christmas plans.

To Be Continued…