When Sammy Met Santa

Chapter 1

Summary: Tragedy strikes the Winchester family during the holidays. Will a little bit of faith, believing and Christmas spirit be enough to turn things around? Sick Sam.

Note: I got the Christmas spirit when I took my dog to get his picture taken with Santa. This story will be short, probably only two chapters. Dean is 9 and Sam is 5.

Reviews are welcome—really.

Disclaimer: I still don't own anything.

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"I'm gonna go grab us some food, okay Bud? Are you hungry?" John asked

"Hmm," Dean grunted in response, he wasn't really listening, but whenever he heard John's voice, he made some sort of noise.

"Okay," John said, "I'll be right back."

Dean was busy looking around the small hospital lobby, where many parents were sitting while their kids were in the little community playroom which connected on to the lobby. There were paintings of children and rainbows scattered across the walls, it was a pediatrics ward after all. There were Christmas decorations all around, in the corner there was even a tree covered in ornaments and there were presents underneath. In the small playroom was Santa Clause himself, he had come to visit all the sick little kids—like Sammy.

Sammy was not allowed to visit Santa though, the doctors had said that he was very susceptible to infections right now and he could not be around the other children. Even Dean had to wash his hands before he was allowed in Sam's room. He wished he could be with Sam now, but the doctors were doing tests, more tests. Sam had been a pincushion since he'd been brought in, his little arms were bruised from the endless blood work and IVs, it made Dean shutter just thinking about it. Sam was being so brave, he submitted to all the tests without complaint, although he continued to insist that he was fine.

Sam was not upset about not being allowed to see Santa; even at five, he knew that Santa was not real. He had never believed in Santa, John said that it was because he did not want to get Sam's hopes up about Christmas. Sam had never experienced a real Christmas, except from inside Mary's womb, as far as the Winchesters were concerned, December 25 was just another day.

Even so, it made Dean especially sad that Sam had gotten sick during the holidays. Dean could still remember the last Christmas that they had celebrated, he held the memory close to his heart, but he had never shared it with Sam, he didn't want to rub it in Sam's face, all the great things he had missed out on. Dean believed in Santa until he was nearly five and he knew the magic of waking up on Christmas morning to find what Santa had left him, he longed for it and he was sad that Sam would never have it.

Sam and Dean were taught, since Sam had learned to speak, to be great 'actors', when grown ups would ask them what they had asked Santa for, they would promptly name a toy. In fact, Dean had heard Sam do it earlier that day when a nervous med student had asked, "Have you told Santa what you want for Christmas yet?" As pale and weak as he was, Sam convincingly answered, "A fire truck with a real working hose and latter."

Dean was brought out of his thoughts when John gently shook his shoulder and held out a sandwich and a can of soda, "Here you go Dude." They ate in silence, anxiously waiting for Sam's Doctor, Dr. Martin, to come back out.

Although it seemed much longer to everyone involved, Sam had been in the hospital for a week, a long strenuous week. Five-year old Sam was in his kindergarten class, where everyone was busy writing their Christmas wish lists as a fun holiday activity, the kids were really into it, except for little Sam of course. He was racking his brain for more things to put on his meager list, all his classmates' lists seemed to be a mile long, and they were still writing furiously. He had the basics down on his list: A football, a baseball mitt, Thundercats action figure, GI Joe, a water gun... He looked over at the girl next to him, trying to get some more ideas, but she was not very helpful, apparently, she wanted every Barbie and Barbie accessory ever made.

Since he couldn't think of any more toys for his list, he decided that he might as well decorate it. He got up from his desk and went to the crafts bin on the other side of the room. On the way his breath hitched, he took a puff from his inhaler, which he carried in his pocket; he had childhood asthma, the doctors said that he would probably grow out of it. His asthma had been acting up a lot lately, but John thought that it was due to the cold winter weather.

After taking a hit from his inhaler, he continued towards the bin, then he felt a spark of pain in his chest, he ignored it and grabbed some markers and construction paper. As he went back to his table, the pain became sharper and more persistent then suddenly he couldn't breathe. He could hear himself wheezing as his knees buckled and he fall to the ground, he could vaguely hear his teacher frantically shouting his name, then every thing went black.

When he woke again, he was very confused—he was in full hospital attire, an oversized hospital gown with racecars on it, IVs in his arm, an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, and he was hook up to more machines than he could count. His vision was blurry and distorted, no one had realized that he was awake, but he could feel someone's hand on his arm and he could hear his father speaking with someone.

"...had to shock him three times..." An unfamiliar voice announced, "...heart is failing...lungs are going with it..."

"But Why!?" Sam knew that voice, it was definitely his father. "Why is this happening?—He is only five!"

"We don't know, we're running tests and we are doing the best we can to come up with some answers, but right now—"

"Sammy?" A sleep-laced voice called from Sam's side, John hurried to the bed.

"D-dean?" Sam's voice was weak and muffled from the mask. "D-dad?"

"Hey Baby, how do you feel?" John asked, he stroked Sam's shaggy, sleep-tousled hair and Dean squeezed his tiny hand.

"Fine...What happened?"

"You fainted at school," Dean explained.

"You had to come to the hospital so the doctors could help you get better," John said.

"Kay," Sam mumbled drowsily.

It had been a waiting game ever since, the doctors still had no answers as to why a relatively healthy five year old was dying right before their eyes. Sam's health was deteriorating quickly, the already thin boy had lost considerable weight, looked tiny and fragile and he was so tired. The doctors said that if he did not start eating more they would have to put him on a feeding tube and if his breathing became any worse, they would have to put him on a ventilator.

When John and Dean saw Dr. Martin come into the lobby they both stood, "John, I think it would be best if we spoke privately."

"No Dad!" Dean cried.

"Wait here Dean," John ordered gently, "I promise I'll tell you when we're done." Dean did as he was told, but he did not look happy about it, the doctor led John out of the lobby. "What's wrong? How is he?"

"Not so good—John when we were getting the blood work Sam went into cardiac arrest, we had to shock him a few times, we are able to get him back..."

"But...?" John asked skeptically.

"But he wasn't breathing on his own, we had to put him on a ventilator and a feeding tube, his heart is weakening and we still don't know what's causing it."

"I-I-I don't understand, what are you doing for him?" John asked, he did not like the regretful, sympathetic look in the doctor's compassionate eyes. "Oh god...No!" John was barely containing his tears, he was desperately grasping at straws, "C-can't you put him on the list for a transplant or..." John's voice broke, "anything?"

The doctor shook his head sadly, "I'm sorry John. He'd never make the list; he's not even breathing on his own." The doctor watched the broken man make his way back to his oldest son, John said nothing, he just pulled the boy into a hug, and they clung to each other and sobbed. It was days like today that Dr. Martin wished he had chosen another profession.

Thanks for reading.