Now he thought about it, he should have known better. Known better than to go at this job all gung-ho.
She was ‘The Spirit of Christmas' and he had let the kitsch title lull him into a false sense of security.
So now he had to suffer the repercussions of his irresponsibility. Well more correctly he had to watch Dean suffer her Christmas Wrath.
And that was killing him.
He looked at his brother's pain wracked face; saw the tension in his arm where he clutched his broken ribs.
"I'm sorry, Dean."
"Sam... We got her... Merry Christmas!"
He'd had a bad feeling about this from the start.
There was something about the tinsel bedecked, vengeful spirit that rung Christmas bells with him, but Sam had laughed at his concerns.
So now he lay there, breathing as little as possible to remain conscious but not grind the fragmented bone ends against each other, looking into Sammy's tortured eyes.
When would the kid learn that any job they walked, limped away from was a successful one?
Dean smiled, pressing his hand to the agony in his side and thanked his lucky stars that they had made it to another Christmas.
Chapter end notes:
Merry Christmas everyone.