A Second Christmas Miracle

Gibbs checked his phone and saw he had two messages; he hadn’t even heard the damn thing ring. He managed to push the right buttons to get to his voice mail.

“First message,” his cell phone said to him.

“Hey, it’s me. I’ll be over in about thirty minutes. Just thought I’d stop and pick up some dessert, some of that…I’ll be a son of a bitch. Okay, maybe I’ll be forty-five minutes. I think I just saw one of FBI’s most wanted, one of the mug shots we were looking at the other night, ya know, one of those dead Winchester guys. I won’t engage, I promise, so don’t freak. I’m just gonna follow him and see where he goes to ground.”

“End of first message.” There was a pause, then, “Next message.”

“Me again. I know you’ll be pissed, but I’m still not positive it’s him, so I’m just gonna get a little closer. I’m at the Doritos plant, you know the one that’s shut down? He just went in there. I’ll see you soon and fully expect to get my head slapped.”

“End of new messages. To listen to old messages…”

Gibbs hit the off button. “Damn you, DiNozzo.”

It was Christmas Eve, a year to the day that Tony had been brought back to life: Gibbs’ very own Christmas miracle. All day Gibbs had been feeling jumpy, as if Tony’s warranty was going to run out; that all he’d been given was a one year reprieve.

He was already in his car, and not far from where Tony said he was, or had been, so Gibbs raced toward that location. He should have checked to see what time the call came in, and he would have if he knew how. Gibbs made a resolution right then and there that if Tony was okay, he’d learn how to use his damn phone. If Tony got hurt because Gibbs couldn’t be bothered, he’d never forgive himself.

Pulling up beside Tony’s car, seeing a black car a few spots down, Gibbs ran for the closest door, yanked it open and came to a complete stop.

He’d walked into a nightmare.

There was a large granite altar at the far right of the room which had a naked kid on it, maybe twelve or thirteen. He was being held down by two men, while a third man used a knife to cut symbols on his chest and stomach. The kid was crying, tears rolling down his cheeks, his eyes wide and horrified, doing his best to struggle, but it was an unfair fight. There wasn’t a sound coming out of him. He should have been screaming, his mouth looked like he was, but nothing was coming out.

All the men had black eyes. Not just irises, but entirely black eyes. Gibbs might not know much, but he knew that couldn’t be good.

In front of the altar was a brazier putting out a thick smoke that hurt Gibbs’ eyes and made him feel instantly congested. His gaze swept the room, taking in everything in a couple of seconds. He saw a man pressed against the wall several feet off the floor. Nothing seemed to be holding him there, but he was stuck tight, like a fly on flypaper, struggling to get loose. Gibbs would have bet money it was Dean Winchester; the dead man who kept not being dead. The one who’d led Tony here.

“Get the knife!” he was hissing to Gibbs. “It’s the only thing that will kill them.” His eyes were pointing to the floor and Gibbs looked down by the man’s feet and saw a large knife with a serrated edge. Moving quickly, he picked it up, half-listening as Winchester demanded he save the kid--as if he needed that kind of direction--just as a drop of blood fell on his sleeve.

Gibbs looked up and saw Tony on the ceiling. It was an industrial ceiling that was about forty to fifty feet high, covered with pipes, electrical boxes, and large hooks. Tony’s eyes were open, but he looked dead. Blood was dripping from wounds across his chest and abdomen; whatever had made them had ripped through his shirt and into the skin beneath. Gibbs’ heart stuttered in fear. He wanted to yell up to him, but the men around the altar weren’t acting as if they’d noticed Gibbs yet, and he wanted to keep it that way until he was ready to be noticed.

Gibbs looked urgently around for a ladder, anything that would get him up to Tony, but then Winchester was snarling about the kid again, and Gibbs got his priorities straight, even if it killed him to do it. Keeping the knife in one hand, he pulled his gun out with the other. “NCIS. Stop what you’re doing!” he yelled out.

One of the men, the one holding the kid’s ankles, looked over at him, and smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile; it was a smile that promised to rip out Gibbs’ entrails.

“The gun won’t work,” Winchester bellowed in frustration. “And they don’t care what alphabet soup you’re with. Just go stab them. You don’t even have to kill them, just stab them. The knife will do the rest.”

Gibbs readjusted his hold on the knife and took a step in their direction, his gut screaming that this whole situation was beyond bad, that what was going on in this room was unholy. Even knowing that, though, Gibbs felt reluctant to just start stabbing people. “Let the boy go,” he demanded.

“Do you want to take his place?” one man asked slyly.

“Yes,” Gibbs said, sure of that at least. “If you let him go first.”

“Forget that,” Winchester protested. “If you need some fucking sacrifice to whatever demon you’re trying to raise, use me.”

The one cutting the symbols stopped and glanced up at Winchester. “Dean, Dean, Dean. You know we can’t use you. You don’t stay dead. Your angel just keeps bringing you back to life.”

“Yeah, well, he’ll be here any minute,” Dean threatened, “so why don’t you fuckers just scamper away, okay? Leave the kid alone and I won’t send the angel after you for some serious smiting.”

Gibbs wished to hell he knew what was going on. He glanced up at Tony again, then at the floor where an ever-growing puddle of blood was forming. He swallowed down the sour taste of bile, knowing every second that passed the likelihood of Tony dying, if he wasn’t already dead, was increasing.

“He won’t be showing up any time soon,” the man said. He pointed at the fire. “He can’t see or hear you through that.”

Winchester looked momentarily worried, but then he rallied and sneered at them. “I’d be more worried about the fact that I can see and hear you. You hurt that kid, and I will hunt you down and kill you. You get me?”

Gibbs did what math he could, decided this Winchester, however improbable, was one of the good guys, despite how much Tobias liked to prattle on about what bad news the brothers were. Dean was expecting help, important help, and somehow that fire was keeping it from happening. Gibbs lunged for the brazier and sent it flying, scattering coals and whatever else was inside it. He stamped on what he could, before he felt himself flying across the room, smacking up against the wall just like Winchester, unable to move.

“Nice,” Winchester said, sounding as if he meant it. “Castiel!” he yelled. “I could use a little help.”

Gibbs was failing spectacularly in his fight against whatever was holding him still when he heard a flap of wings, and then a man wearing a trench coat was standing in the middle of the room. It was the pair of wings that came with him that took Gibbs’ breath away. In seconds, the angel, for there was no other word for it, stalked to the altar and seemed to exorcise the devil out the first man.

As soon as the first man slid to the floor, Gibbs found himself free and falling to the floor. He heard Winchester thump to the ground next to him, and then he was grabbing the knife out of Gibbs’ hand and threatening one of the men who was trying to run away. The demon had a knife of his own, though, and he went after Dean with a vengeance.

Castiel was still working on the second man, and the kid was screaming now, freed from whatever constraint of silence the men with the black eyes had kept him under. Gibbs ran for the altar, pulling the kid off of it and out of harm’s way.

That was when he realized Tony would probably be falling too and, assuming Tony was still alive--and Gibbs wasn’t willing to assume anything else right now--he wasn’t likely to survive the fall unless someone helped break it. He looked up and saw Tony already falling like a lifeless Raggedy Andy, and Gibbs was too far away to help. He still ran like hell, but it was Dean Winchester who got there first, who tried to catch Tony.

Gibbs heard Dean’s arm snap as he took the force of Tony’s fall, and then more ominous cracks as they landed on the floor, hard, Dean under Tony. Gibbs was there in a second, falling to his knees.

“Jesus,” Dean said, laboring for breath, his body covered by DiNozzo’s. “At least tell me he’s alive, seeing as I think he killed me.”

Dean didn’t look like he was kidding, and as Gibbs reached out to feel for a pulse, blood started frothing from Dean’s mouth. A part of him, maybe the part of him that refused to believe that Tony was dead, took in the fact that the angel had dispatched the third man, or what had been inside of him.

Next to Dean, suddenly, was a young girl, maybe in her early twenties, dark hair, dark eyes; normal dark, not devil dark. Superimposed over her young visage, confusing Gibbs, was that of an old man, white and drawn, one that Gibbs had seen all too often on the battlefield. “Stay away,” Gibbs snapped at her.

“Tessa,” Dean managed to say. “Don’t. He’s a good guy. He was just trying to help.” He started to cough, letting out a groan along with a spittle of blood.

“I don’t make the rules, Dean,” she said, smiling sadly down at Tony.

Gibbs couldn’t feel a pulse beneath his fingers. He pulled Tony off of Dean and closer to him, fingers searching frantically, the other hand on his chest, willing Tony to breathe.

“Yeah, but you make exceptions for me all the time,” Dean said, managing a smile, his teeth covered in blood.

“For you,” Tessa agreed. “But you already know you’re special.”

“I know you’re a reaper,” Gibbs said, holding Tony close, knowing even as he did so, no matter how much he wanted it otherwise, that Tony was already dead. “You can’t have him.”

“He’s already mine,” she said kindly. “Death comes to us all.”

Dean snorted.

“To all,” she said implacably. “Some simply take a more circuitous route.”

“Castiel,” Dean pleaded. “Can’t you heal him?”

Castiel had turned his attention to the young boy, and Gibbs somehow found the wherewithal to notice that the boy’s torso was healed.

“Not if he is already dead,” Castiel said. He walked over to where Gibbs held Tony and crouched down. “I am sorry for your loss,” he said. He put his hand on Dean’s chest, though, and Gibbs could see a light coming from his hand, and it seemed to ease Dean’s pain.

“Sorry?” Gibbs spat out. “You give him to me for one year, and now you’re taking him back? That’s bullshit. Why didn’t you just keep him, why give me this year, this time with him, and then take it away?”

Tessa put her hand out, and Gibbs jerked Tony away. “Don’t,” he snarled.

“He deserves his rest,” she said.

“He deserves to still be alive.”

“Many die long before the people who love them would wish,” Tessa said. “But death chooses its own time.”

“Not with him,” Gibbs said, his heart breaking, unable to process that he might be leaving this warehouse alone, going home alone, living his life alone. It felt worse than a year ago, because now he knew what he was losing. He’d had a year to live and to love Tony, and he wouldn’t survive his loss. He was already scanning the room for the knife, for his gun, which had gone flying. They’d find both their bodies in this room.

While he had been looking away, Tessa had gotten her hands on Tony. Gibbs was about to yank him away, when Tessa let out a soft gasp. “He is already risen.”

Gibbs tugged Tony closer, until he held him in a hug, wishing with all his might that Tony’s arms would close around him one last time. “He died a year ago,” he said.

“Castiel,” Tessa said. “I believe he is one of yours.”

Castiel looked surprised by this, but he put his hand on Tony’s forehead, and his eyebrows rose high. “Extraordinary,” he said. He stared at Gibbs. “I remember you. You’re Leroy Jethro Gibbs.”

Gibbs wasn’t sure how he felt about an angel knowing him, but he’d do a tap dance for him if it would get Tony back. After last year, Gibbs’ ability to believe in miracles was a lot stronger. “Can you bring him back?”

“I cannot,” Castiel said.

Gibbs closed his eyes, burying his face in Tony’s neck. “Please,” he begged.

“What’s going on?” Dean asked.

It was Tessa who answered, “This man has already been brought back from the dead.”

“So do it again,” Dean said, matter-of-factly, as if it were an ordinary request.

“It was Michael who resurrected him,” Castiel said. “It must be Michael again.”

“Fuck,” Dean said. “Can he do it from up there?”

“No,” Castiel said. “I believe he would need to come down here.”

“Fuck,” Dean said again.

Gibbs lifted his head and looked at the two of them, as well as Tessa. “What are you guys talking about?” And who was this Dean Winchester who spoke with reapers and angels as if it was a regular occurrence?

“That was a one-time only deal,” Dean said to Castiel with clear hostility.

“He would only need a short time,” Castiel said, a small smile hovering on his lips. “You know I would never let him harm you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever,” Dean said. “Fuck.” He drew a deep breath then pointed a finger at Gibbs. “You totally owe me for this, and if you try to arrest my ass, I’m having Castiel smite you for real.”

“So noted,” Gibbs said, even if he had no idea what was about to happen. He held Tony tighter and watched for something to happen.

From one second to the next, Dean changed. The first thing Gibbs noticed, or heard, was all the cracks as Dean’s bones snapped back into place as he stood up, both his arm and his ribs. His skin and clothes became clean, blood gone, rips in his clothing repaired. He stood taller, and while he couldn’t possibly be, he seemed to be at least seven feet tall, light shining from him as if through cracks, like the glow around the edges of a door into a darkened doorway, as if Dean had swallowed a thousand lit candles. And his eyes…Gibbs gasped when he saw them. Such boundless love and wisdom and sadness and compassion. Whoever it was, whatever Dean was now, because it sure wasn’t the Dean Winchester of five minutes ago, crouched down next to Gibbs.

“You have been reckless with your miracle,” the being said.

“I haven’t,” Gibbs protested. “But we do a dangerous job. You know that.” The name Michael, which came hand-in-hand with the subject of archangels, careened through Gibbs’ mind, enveloped by a sharp sense of disbelief.

“Do you still find it so hard to believe in miracles?” The being, or Michael, almost seemed disappointed.

“No,” Gibbs said, clutching at Tony. “I want another one.” He felt beyond presumptuous for asking. “I’ve loved him the best I can.” And he had. It had been a year filled with love and laughter.

“You have,” Michael said with a genuine smile on his face. “You have loved him well.”

“Is this all I was ever going to get? Just one year? Please,” Gibbs said, willing to beg, to deal, to do anything. “Please, don’t let it end now. I’m not ready. I can’t lose him now.” There was a lump in Gibbs’ throat large enough to make talking difficult. His eyes pricked with tears. “Please.”

“Death will come for him at some point,” Michael said. “Tessa is right about that. No one escapes the reaper’s touch.”

“The man you’re in said he did.” Gibbs didn’t want to make Michael angry, but he also wasn’t going to pass a possible loophole by, not with Tony’s life on the line.

“Dean Winchester is special. The Host owes him more than we can repay. It is a small price to keep him alive, able to continue to fight on our behalf.”

Gibbs wondered, again, who the fuck Dean Winchester really was, because he sure as hell wasn’t what was in that file Tobias had inherited in the wake of Hendrikson’s death.

“It is unprecedented to grant you this boon twice,” Michael said.

Fear gripped Gibbs’ heart at the possibility that even with this being before him, he might not get his second miracle.

“Dean wished him healed,” Castiel pointed out.

Gibbs could have hugged the man, wings and all.

“How long do you plan to play that card, Castiel?” Michael asked the angel dryly.

“I suspect as long as Dean draws breath,” Castiel said with a small grin. “You know how difficult he is.”

Michael actually laughed.

“Please,” Gibbs begged again.

Michael stared at him, and Gibbs felt as if he was being scoured inside and out, his heart, his soul, his mind, and it felt invasive and forgiving at the same time. Glancing at Tony, Michael said, “Lay him down.”

Gibbs gently laid Tony down, but still kept a hand on his shoulder, not willing to completely let him go.

“You cannot be touching him,” Michael said kindly.

“I’ll take my chances,” Gibbs said.

That got another long look, but then Michael put his hand on Tony’s forehead and a glow came from his hand that grew brighter with every second until Gibbs had to narrow his eyes and turn his head away. The radiance of the light filled the room, and Tony’s body thrummed under his hand, the sensation vibrating up Gibbs’ arm until Gibbs felt the light seep into his body, as if it were something he could hold in his hand, as if the glory of it was seeping into his very cells.

Gibbs heard a cough and looked down, his heart pounding in relief, to see Tony attempting to sit up, looking around in confusion. Stupefied at this priceless gift, Gibbs looked up to thank Michael, but the man across from him was shaking his head. “It’s just me,” Dean said, shaking his arms out. “He doesn’t hang around for the thanks. Blah, I hate it when he does that.”

“I can’t even begin to thank you,” Gibbs said. “Either of you,” he said to Castiel.

“It was you who allowed me to enter this building,” Castiel reminded him.

“Yeah, so we’re even,” Dean agreed. Castiel put his hand on Dean’s arm again, but Dean said, “All healed, Cas. Michael did a major mojo on me.”

Castiel frowned at this piece of news. “I shall check you more thoroughly, later.”

If Gibbs had to guess, he’d think that Castiel was feeling a tad territorial about Dean. Now that Tony was back in the land of the living, albeit confused, Gibbs could smile at that. He wasn’t sure which of them had the tiger by the tail; maybe it was both of them.

“Jethro?” Tony said. “Come on. What’s going on?” He saw Dean, then. “Hey, what the hell was going on in here? Where’s the kid?”

Good question, Gibbs thought to himself. He searched the room and found him with Tessa. “Hey,” he barked. “He’s not dead. We saved him.”

“I have healed his mind,” Tessa said. “This will seem nothing more than a nightmare when he wakes up.”

“Tessa,” Dean said. “You are one awesome reaper.”

Tessa smiled even as she shook her head as if in dismay at his disrespect. She came over and kissed him on the forehead. “Until we meet again,” she said. “Which, knowing you, will be soon.”

“After Christmas, okay?” he said. “Sammy’s expecting us in New York for Christmas. Sarah’s pregnant again.” Looking suddenly dangerous, he turned his eyes on Gibbs. “Don’t even think about using what I just said to track my brother down. That file the FBI has on us is bullshit.”

“I think I figured that one out all on my own. You have nothing, ever, to fear from me,” Gibbs said.

“All right, then,” Dean said after a moment. Back to Tessa, he said, “I’d invite you to Sam and Sarah’s for eggnog, but she gets a little freaked having a reaper so near the kids.” Dean made a face and held his hands out in a what-can-you-do gesture, as if Sarah was the one being unreasonable.

Tessa gave him a full out smile then, nodded at Castiel, glanced down at Gibbs who was checking Tony’s chest for any sign of the wounds he’d seen while Tony had been on the ceiling, and then she was gone.

“Well,” Dean said, “not that this hasn’t been a hell of a lot of fun, but we’ve gotta get that kid home and get on the road.”

“I’ll take him home,” Gibbs said. “His parents will be reassured by my badge.”

“I’ve got a ton of badges,” Dean said with an unrepentant grin.

Gibbs rolled his eyes, fighting down the desire to confiscate them all. He reluctantly let Tony go, as Tony insisted on sitting up.

“Someone gonna tell me what happened?” Tony complained.

“You came in, decided I wasn’t the bad guy, tried to help, got skewered by a demon, died, and the same archangel who apparently brought you back to life last year, decided to do it again,” Dean said. “If you had to die, you picked a good time to do it,” Dean added.

Gibbs believed it. Of course Tony wouldn’t have been dead if it wasn’t for Dean.

As if reading his mind, Dean said, “Of course you wouldn’t have been dead at all if you hadn’t chased me in here.”

Tony scowled at him. “You’re on the FBI’s most wanted list. I’m a cop. What do you want?”

Dean frowned. “You sure you can’t make that go away?” he asked Castiel. “Seems like if you can raise me from hell, you could do a little computer tampering.”

“I have no skill with computers,” Castiel said.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Angels. Sheesh.”

Castiel gave him a look, and Dean laughed out loud, grabbed Castiel’s tie and pulled him in for a kiss.

Based on the angel’s easy reciprocation, this wasn’t the first time they’d kissed, and Gibbs watched unashamedly, as the FBI’s most wanted Winchester brother kissed Castiel, wings curling at the tips as if in pleasure.

Dean didn’t kiss him for long, just long enough for Castiel’s wings to close around them. When he pulled back, after touching Castiel’s wings, looking as if he wanted nothing more than to play with them for hours, he glanced at Gibbs and Tony. “You guys gonna be okay? We really do need to go. We were supposed to be there an hour ago.”

“In New York?” Gibbs said. “You’ve got a long drive ahead of you.”

“Nah,” Dean said. “We’ll go angel express. I just want to make sure that you’re okay. No one’s bleeding, everyone’s back from the dead, you’re good, right?”

“I want a way to reach you,” Gibbs said, the words out before Gibbs could even wonder why. “Give me your phone number.”

Dean gave him a narrow-eyed stare. “Why?” he asked suspiciously.

“We might find ourselves fighting something like this again, and I want to be able to call for reinforcements.”

“Yeah,” Dean said skeptically, “or maybe you’ll use it to figure out where I am and have me picked up. Maybe the next time your buddy here pisses you off, you won’t be so grateful I helped save his life.”

Gibbs barked out a laugh.

“Hey,” Tony complained.

Gibbs kept laughing. He liked this Dean Winchester. “Give me your number.”

Dean frowned again, then said, “Cas, give him your number.”

Gibbs’ eyebrows rose at that. “You have a cell phone?” That seemed the craziest thing that had happened in the last however long he’d been in this damn warehouse.

“It has become necessary,” Castiel said, pulling out his phone. He reeled off a number, as Gibbs patted down his pockets for his notebook and pen.

Tony took Gibbs’ phone and input the number, handing the phone back to Gibbs when he was done. Then he said, “I’m sorry, but are you actually an angel?”

“Do you not remember angels?” Castiel said. “You walked among us briefly.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, “but you looked different up there, or out there, or wherever.”

“I have taken a human body,” Castiel said.

“Oh,” Tony said, as if that explained everything. He turned to Gibbs. “You’re going to explain all of this to me, right?”

Gibbs nodded. “Yeah.” And he would. Once he got Tony home so he could do his own thorough checking.

“So, you’re good?” Dean asked.

“We’re good,” Gibbs told him, meaning it to the bottom of his heart.

“Awesome. Can we go?” he asked Castiel. “We’ll come back for the car.”

Castiel didn’t even respond. Just that fast, they were gone.

“Wow,” Tony said. “Angel express?”

“Angel express,” Gibbs said. He wondered if they were already in New York. Then he didn’t care anymore, as he pulled Tony back into his arms, reveling in the warmth of his body, the reassuring rise and fall of his chest, the steady beat of his heart. “Jesus, Tony. Don’t do that again. Really.”

“Sorry, boss,” Tony said, holding Gibbs back just as tightly. “I didn’t exactly plan on dying when I ran in here.”

“You followed a suspected homicidal maniac into an abandoned warehouse,” Gibbs scolded him. “On what planet did you think that was gonna end well?”

“I didn’t want him to get away. Besides, now we know he’s on the side of the angels, literally, maybe we can help them.”

“I actually have an idea about that,” Gibbs said.

“Let me guess. Does it involve someone in your employ who’s really good with computers?”

“It might.”

Tony grinned. “I like the way you think, Jethro.”

Gibbs narrowed his eyes at Tony. “You do this to me next Christmas Eve, and I’ll kill you myself.”

“We can take the day off from work and stay in bed all day,” Tony promised. “Okay?”

Gibbs was putting in the paperwork as soon as they got back to the office. He was also putting a new roof on the house, at least over the bedroom. Maybe have the electricity checked. He clasped his phone in his hand, realizing, suddenly, that he had an angel’s number in his phone. He’d make sure to put him on speed dial.


Epilogue:

It was Dean who went out to buy Sarah lox and peanut butter. Just the thought of it had made Sammy gag, so Dean had volunteered. Castiel had offered to accompany him, but Dean knew he’d rather stay at Sam’s and play with the kids. After Dean, Sam’s and Sarah’s kids were Castiel’s favorite thing. Castiel had managed to make the Impala appear in the driveway, so Dean hadn’t even had to borrow Sam’s yuppie sedan.

It was late enough, and Christmas enough, that Dean wasn’t worrying about how fast he was driving, so when he saw the police lights behind him, he cursed. Dean didn’t have to worry about prison, not with Castiel able to wink him out of anywhere, but he’d been having such a good day up to now. Dean didn’t want to end it by being slammed down face first onto the hood of his car.

He thought about gunning it, but his baby was getting old, and as much as it felt like heresy to think it, she couldn’t outrace a police car.

Dean pulled over to the side of the road. “Fuck.” He waited for the cop to approach him. And waited, and waited. The guy had to be running Dean’s plates, which were currently registered to someone named Randy Rhoads. Dean remembered to pull out the license that matched that name.

He just had it in hand when the cop finally got out of his car. Dean glanced at the rear view mirror, trying to see if the cop had his gun out, but Dean couldn’t see a weapon.

The cop appeared at his window, looking nervous.

“Can I help you, officer?” Dean asked.

“Are you Dean Winchester?”

Dean pressed his lips together tightly, biting back another curse. “Nope,” he said brightly. “Randy Rhoads.” He held out his license.

“What band is he from?”

That was an unexpected question. “Excuse me?”

“The guy on the phone said that you used names from bands, so I was wondering what band that was from.”

“What guy on the phone?”

“His name’s Leroy Jethro Gibbs. He’s got this car and your name flagged, I guess. I called the number that came up, and I was told to ignore whatever fake band member name you gave me, to render assistance if needed, and then to let you go.”

“What?” Dean wondered if he was dreaming.

“He said to say Merry Christmas, by the way.”

Dean started to smile. “For real?”

“What band?”

Hoping he wasn’t making a huge mistake, Dean said, “Quiet Riot.”

“Never heard of them.”

“They didn’t last long.”

“Do you need assistance?”

“Not unless you can tell me where to find lox this time of night.”

“There’s a twenty-four hour market about five miles from here,” the cop said. “Straight down this road, and then take a left at the second light.”

“Okay,” Dean said. “Thanks.”

“You sure you don’t need assistance?” The cop sounded almost wistful.

Dean hoped this guy never had to deal with a demon or angry spirit in his life. “No, but thanks. The lox thing helped a lot.”

“Okay. Good night, then.”

“Yeah, good night.”

The cop went back to his vehicle, got in, and a few seconds later was turning around and heading back the way he’d come.

Dean was still smiling. “Son of a bitch,” he said. “My very own Christmas Miracle.” He thought of Gibbs and Tony and hoped they were having one hell of a Christmas. It made Dean want to get home to his own family. Determined to get Sarah her lox and peanut butter, and then get home so he could share this story with Sam, then crawl into bed with Castiel, Dean headed down the road to the second light.


The End
December 4, 2009