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Sam’s breath fogged in front of his face and he pushed his hands further into his jacket pockets, as if the pressure would stop more heat from escaping through the material. He quickened his steps and reminded himself that it was just a few more blocks to the shop. He’d already walked a mile, another quarter wouldn’t kill him. As the wind whipped through the street, he wondered if bronchitis down the line might.
But he’d walked further in colder temperatures and in much worse physical conditions before. This was a piece of cake. Dad would surely call him soft if he heard his internal complaining monologue about his current situation.
But Dad wasn’t here. That was the whole point.
Sam was lucky the manager of the local coffee shop, Coffee’n’Toffee, was willing to take on a temporary employee just for winter break. It was a good deal for both of them, really, since all his regular employees had gone home for break. Sam would have enough money and food to just barely squeeze by with the one meal a day provided by the campus dining hall and still have some cash left over for books once the new semester started.
He was living on the edge, but it was a different edge than he was used to. If this was what trading life and death for a taste of normal was like, he’d take it.
Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t glad to blow into the store and immediately get hit with a blast of warm air.
“Look who tumbled in!” Bridget said happily—she was always happy, it seemed, even for these pre-dawn shifts—from behind the counter. Her brown hair was in a loose braid today instead of its typical tight bun. “That beanie’s putting in its work today!”
Sam smiled at her and ran a self conscious hand over the soft fabric on his head. It was threadbare, at best, bought from a thrift store a month ago on a whim. Dark blue and just on this side of scratchy, but it kept his hair in place and his head a little warmer than it would’ve been without it. That and it was his. Not a hand-me-down, not an ill-fitting piece of fabric picked out by Dad, his.
He hadn’t left with much the night of the fight, not after Dad said he should stay gone. It had taken months and some careful thrifting and garage sale scouring, but eventually he had a small selection of clothes to choose from, more than he’d ever had before. The beanie was a welcome addition to that collection.
“It is.” He exchanged his jacket for an apron in the back and by the time he had come to the front to help with the morning prep, Bridget had the Christmas music on and was tapping her foot to “Jingle Bell Rock”.
“So,” she said as she organized the pastries, “any big plans for the big day tomorrow?”
“If you mean sitting in my room with the Cowboys game on, then yeah.”
Bridget whistled. “Sounds big indeed. See, I was gonna invite you to this little shindig at my friend’s place for those of us stuck here over break, but seems like you’re busy.”
“I appreciate the thought,” Sam said genuinely, a little surprised that she had indeed thought to invite him at all. They’d only worked together for a few weeks and didn’t have any classes together, with her being a biology major and him pre-law. And it wasn’t that she wasn’t nice. She was. Talked a little too much, maybe, but she was kind and efficient and had a knack for multitasking. “We never did much for the holiday in my family. The lack of tradition becomes the tradition, I guess. I’ll be alright where I am,” he added as an explanation.
And it was true, to a degree. Sometimes Dad would bring in a cheap wreath, or try to pass off a weapon as a gift. Mostly it fell to Dean to try to make the day cheerier than normal. But even that had begun to fall by the wayside the last few years as the tension between Sam and Dad grew.
Maybe a quiet Christmas was just what he needed.
But then he remembered the year that Dean had driven the two of them an hour away from the motel to go see houses decked in Christmas lights when Dad was on a hunt. He could still picture how the rainbows of flashing colors had danced across Baby’s hood and lit up Dean’s face like fireworks. His brother had laughed as he pointed out a set of lit up snowmen dressed in scarves and hats staring at a sleigh on someone’s roof.
They’d gotten peppermint hot chocolate at a diner after and warmed their hands on the chipped white mugs. The waitress had given Sam a small candy cane as a treat, which he had broken in half and shared with Dean when she wasn’t looking. Later, Sam had fallen asleep to the legos rattling in the Impala’s vents as Dean turned the heat up as high as it would go.
“Your loss.” Bridget shrugged and snapped him out of his reverie. She didn’t seem surprised or disappointed by his answer, which made him feel better. A minute later, she asked him what his favorite football team was, and he pretended to have an answer while she lamented about her father’s obsession with the 49ers. Their conversation dwindled when the first customers of the day walked in, and from there, Sam lost himself in the work.
The day progressed fairly slowly, with the customers slowing to a trickle half an hour before closing. The college town was quiet for break, which Sam didn’t much mind. He could walk without having to be quite so vigilant about bikes looking to steamroll him. The roads weren’t as congested and the campus felt like it had space to breathe.
Sam had his back turned and was washing some of the mugs in the sink while Bridget helped the last few customers.
Soap, water, scrub, dry. Soap, water, scrub, dry.
I’ll be home for Christmas. You can plan on me…
Heavy boots walked up to the counter and Bridget greeted their owner with her unwavering cheer.
Soap, water—
“And what would you recommend?”
Sam’s hands stilled on the cup, but he didn’t yet turn around.
“Oh yeah, I’m a big fan of hazelnuts, let’s go with one of those.”
Bridget rang the man up as Sam removed the cup from under the spray of water and grabbed the towel on the counter. The motion concealed the slight tremor in his hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Dean come around and lean on the counter closest to him as he waited for Bridget to make his drink.
“So, you ever had one of those?”
Sam finally looked over, trying to hide the surprise on his face as best he could. Judging by Dean’s subtle smirk, it wasn’t really working, but then again, Dean had always been able to see though his facades as if they were panes of thin glass.
There was a cut on his forehead being held together by two butterfly bandages. His knuckles were red and scraped where they rested on the counter. While he usually stood straight, he was curled in towards his right side ever so slightly, like his ribs hurt, but not that anyone else would notice. Two could play at peeking through those windows.
Dean appeared mostly alright, which was all that mattered. Sure, they hadn’t parted on the best of terms, and their handful of phone conversations since then had been terse to put it lightly, but he’d never stopped worrying. He’d half expected to see Dean’s name pop up in a newspaper somewhere proclaiming that he’d been mauled by some strange animal or died in a house fire like other people in whatever neighborhood he’d been trying to help. Or worst of all, he’d just never see anything of him again.
An invisible knot in Sam’s chest loosened and he shook his head. “Not a big fan of hazelnuts.” He finished drying the cup but kept it clenched in his grasp. “Neither are you.”
Dean shrugged. He was still wearing Dad’s leather jacket, and the motion accentuated how large it still was on him, with shoulders still waiting to fill out. Shoes trying to be filled in. “Figured I’d try something new and exciting. You try anything like that recently, Sammy?” His eyes sparkled, even though there was a slight edge to his voice.
Sam pursed his lips. “Yeah, actually.”
Dean met his gaze. A challenge. “How was it?”
“Enlightening,” Sam said without missing a beat.
And then Bridget was there, reaching an arm between them to put Dean’s coffee on the counter. “All ready for you.”
Just like that, the moment was over. Sam watched as Dean’s mask slid back into place, not that it had slipped too far in the first place. He grinned easily at Bridget and wrapped his hand around the coffee. After taking a sip, he nodded, the heat not even seeming to phase him. The years of too-hot instant motel and hospital waiting room coffee had probably permanently damaged both of their tongues. “Thanks for the recommendation,” he said honestly, without commenting on the coffee itself. Sam could pick out the polite distaste in his face though.
Bridget blushed and made her way back to the front counter. The silence that remained in her absence was only broken by Judy Garland’s “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”, which came across a little tinny through the ceiling’s speakers.
Dean tapped the side of his coffee cup. “Guess I’ll see you around, Sammy.”
“Yeah,” Sam said and nodded just a little. Dean looked at him for a few more seconds before he turned to go, and halfway to the door before Sam finished with, “See you.”
Then he was gone.
“You do know those things are not the sturdiest materials in the universe, right?” Bridget’s voice brought his attention away from the door. She was pointing to the mug in his hands, which he was gripping so tightly his knuckles had turned white. He quickly set it down along with the drying rag. “You know him?”
“Old friend,” he said simply. Oldest friend. Only friend.
The walk back to his dorm after closing was colder than his morning one had been and he shaved two minutes off his usual travel time to get back inside as soon as possible. He kept his eyes peeled for Dean or the Impala, but they weren’t around. His dorm building was deserted and room itself empty. Sam toed off his wet shoes at the door and tried to decide if he was relieved or disappointed that Dean hadn’t stuck around.
Maybe it was just peace of mind for Dean. A Sammy’s still alive so I can get back to hunting type of detour. Sam didn’t need to be checked in on. He was fine, clearly. But up until now, he hadn’t known Dean was. So maybe it was peace of mind for both of them. Whatever it was, it had at least been good to see him, and Sam decided that was as good as it would get.
The shop was closed for Christmas, as was the dining hall, so Sam made do with some leftover pastries from work and set about enjoying his day off.
He’d always dreaded the first days of school after everyone came back from break. The questions from fellow students about how his break went rang even more hollow when they’d only known him for a few weeks before, or worse, not at all. Maybe this year wouldn’t be so bad. After all, he knew some friends that would be in his classes next quarter. He could talk honestly about the coffee shop or having a good time doing absolutely nothing. Need be, he could spin a yarn about spending some time with his uncle in South Dakota so no one would think he spent the whole break by himself in the dorms.
He had options here. He didn’t have to be the weird new kid. Weird, sure, but not new. He’d take what he could get.
Sam was settling in to listen to the evening football game on his clock radio when he heard footsteps in the hallway. Aside from one or two international students in his residence hall, Sam was it. And none of them would be stopped outside his door. He left the game on but got to his feet and grabbed his pocket knife.
There were three taps at his door, then one, then two.
Sam lowered the knife ever so slightly before he finally put it in his back pocket. His feet remained cemented to the hard carpet. Dean didn’t know he was in here, probably, unless he could hear the radio. Maybe he’d think Sam had just left it on. Fat chance. He could ignore him. Go back to his quiet Christmas away from his family.
But it had never been Dean he’d wanted to leave in the first place.
Sam was undoing the door chain and opening it in the next moment. He caught just a fleeting glimpse of doubt in Dean’s face before he fully registered that Sam had in fact opened the door. “You don’t have a chimney, so…” Dean trailed off and raised his hands. In one he held a bag of takeout that looked like it was from China Garden, a fairly decent spot a few blocks north. And in the other hand he held a six pack.
“Dean,” Sam hissed and pulled him inside.
“What?” Dean asked, humor in his voice, knowing exactly what he was doing.
“You’re not supposed to have alcohol in the dorms.”
“Oh please. One, nobody follows that rule, and B, look around. Not like an RA is gonna swoop down from outta nowhere and write you up. Chill, dude.” He shot Sam a grin and set about clearing space on Sam’s desk so he could untie the takeout bag.
Sam closed the door and didn’t move an inch closer. “What are you doing here? And at work yesterday?”
“What, a man can’t stop for a cup of coffee after a long drive?” Dean said without turning around. He pulled out two containers of rice, forks, and other food.
“You know what I mean.”
Dean cast him a glance over his shoulder and sighed. “Finished up a haunting just outside of Seattle a few days ago. Dad said he’d clean up so I could get a jump on a case in Reno. He’ll catch up.” He made it sound so simple as he organized the food more than it needed to be organized. It gave his hands something to do so he wouldn’t have to look at Sam. They probably both knew that Sam knew that was the case, but neither commented on it, and Sam wasn’t really looking to pick a fight.
The fact of the matter was, Dean had detoured at least three hours to be here, and then would have three or so extra hours to make up to get where he was supposed to be.
“Plus, wanted to see if you got a white Christmas up here. No dice it seems.” The four containers were finally as organized as they could be and so Dean turned around and leaned against the desk.
“Dad know you’re here?”
“C’mon, Sam—“
“Does he?”
“No, alright?” Dean said sharply. He turned around to get a plastic fork. “Maybe he guessed, who cares? You really gonna pick a fight with the man when he’s not even here?”
“That’s not…” Sam shook his head. He took a breath and tried to mentally reset. Dean was here. He’d shucked his jacket over the desk chair and was sitting down to prop his legs up on the desk itself like he owned the place. The little room already felt warmer. “How was your drive?” he finally settled on as he reached for the two containers that Dean hadn’t laid claim to.
Dean raised an eyebrow and, seemingly taking the olive branch for what it was, passed Sam his food. “Pain in the ass,” he muttered and looped some chow mien around his fork before taking a bite. “Snow covered most of the backroads so I got stuck in the mess that is the I-5 for about a hundred miles.”
Dean regaled Sam with the tale of his trip, and Sam followed along using his mental map of all the highways they’d crisscrossed over the years. Baby was in good shape, as always. Dean himself was in perfect shape—not even a concussion this time, quit your worrying—also as always. Dad’s condition wasn’t discussed.
As the food dwindled and the football game reached the fourth quarter, Sam filled him in on how school was going. Classes he loved or hated, friends he had made, how one guy had fainted in class upon seeing another student’s bloody nose. Dean got a laugh out of that one.
Eventually, the empty containers made their way into the trash and Sam sat on his bed while Dean lounged on Sam’s roommate’s. “And your roommate…”
“Frank,” Sam reminded.
Dean snapped his fingers. “Frank, right. Not giving you any trouble?”
Sam shook his head. “He’s pre-med. Spends most of his free time in the library so I hardly see him anyways.”
“Like you don’t spend all your free time in the library?” Dean asked, clearly teasing and proud of it.
“It’s a big library.” Sam rolled his eyes.
Dean smiled at him then, and Sam felt something inside him ease. It was clear that Dean was still hurt by Sam’s decision, and Sam doubted he’d ever really stop feeling hurt. But in that moment, he also looked just the smallest bit proud. “Still a nerd,” Dean said fondly and toyed with the butterfly bandages on his head.
“Still a jerk,” Sam shot back.
“Bitch.” It was reflex at that point, but it still made Sam smile.
Sam let a few seconds pass before he asked, “You put anything on that yet?”
Dean dropped his hand immediately. “Good ol’ cure-all.”
“Something other than whiskey?”
The silence was Sam’s answer. He slid off his bed and went into the bathroom they shared with the double next door. He tossed a damp washcloth and tube of antibiotic ointment at his brother, who caught them easily, and rummaged around in the cabinet for a replacement bandage.
“You’re overreacting,” he heard Dean mutter.
Maybe he was. But he could no longer keep Dean safe out in the field. So, if in this moment he could stop him from getting sepsis or tetanus or whatever else, then he’d do it. “Humor me,” Sam said as he came out of the bathroom with a fresh bandage.
“Whatever.” But Dean had, in fact, done his best to clean the cut, and sat still while Sam put on the bandage. “You should totally dress up as a nurse next Halloween.”
“I will pull this as tight as it goes,” Sam threatened.
“Oh, Nurse Ratched for sure.” Dean grinned as Sam finished up. But Sam didn’t immediately step away, which made Dean furrow his brows in confusion. “What?”
“Ribs?”
Dean leveled his eyes at him, and there was that bit of pride again. Annoyance at Sam’s worry, sure, but maybe glad that Sam hadn’t gone to college and immediately forgotten all of Dean’s tells? As if that would ever be possible. “Just cracked,” he finally answered.
Sam raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure?”
“Am I—“ Dean started, incredulous. “Yes, Sam, I know the difference between busted and cracked. Not gonna puncture a lung so quit your worrying.” He shifted on the bed and Sam, finally deciding that Dean was as well-off as he was going to be, stepped away to toss the bandage debris. When he went to turn off the bathroom light, he noticed that it was already past midnight. When was the last time the hours had flown by so fast?
“Crap,” he said under his breath. To Dean’s raised eyebrow, he added, “I have work in the morning.”
Dean glanced at the clock and nodded. “I’ll let you get your beauty sleep, then.” He started making moves to get his things together, but Sam shook his head.
“You could stay,” he said, almost too quickly. He hadn’t meant to kick Dean out, after all. “It’s heated here, and free, with minimal mystery stains,” Sam pitched. Dean always made a point of trying to figure out if the stains in the motels they stayed in looked like dogs or cats or aliens from outer space.
Dean watched him for a few moments before he nodded slowly. “Twist my arm,” he said with the ghost of a smile and started making his way towards the bathroom.
“And Dean?” Sam spun to catch him, talking before his filter had a chance to stop it. “Thanks. For the food.”
There was too much space between the words and both of them knew it. But for years they’d been filling that space with the intended meanings. A few months of separation didn’t mean they’d forgotten how to do that entirely.
Dean smiled fully. “Anytime, Sammy. Anytime.”
It was nearing one in the morning when they finally settled and turned the lights off. There was a faint red and green glow coming in through the curtains from the Christmas lights strung up around the building.
“Merry Christmas, Dean,” Sam said as he watched the glow.
Dean’s eyes flicked open on the other bed and Sam could see the colors reflected in them too. “Merry Christmas, Sammy.”
It was easy to fall asleep after that, no matter how hard Sam tried to hold onto the comfort of once again having his brother in the same room as him. It was too comforting, that was the problem. Dean’s half snores were the white noise he’d been listening to his entire life, and it wasn’t long after Dean fell asleep that Sam too was pulled under.
When Sam’s alarm began blaring five hours later, he wasn’t surprised to see that Dean was already gone. He let out a long sigh at the sight of the rumpled covers across from him and lack of leather jacket on the desk chair. However, when he sat up, he did notice something amongst the covers.
Sam sat up and reached out a hand to grab the item. It was a dark blue sweatshirt made of soft, thick fabric. Even without the gun oil stains on the right sleeve, Sam would’ve recognized it as Dean’s. As he ran his hands over it, he felt something crunch in the front pocket and pulled it out.
A small piece of paper with Dean’s scrawl stared back at him.
Stay warm, college boy.