Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.
Author's Note: Lady Wallace suggested the series to me, and I was hooked from the first episode. If you like stories of Sam and Dean with children, then check out the fic we are co-writing, "Life's Little Surprises." It's posted on LadyWallace's profile.
In the Dark of the Night
Four-year-old Sammy Winchester huddled in the corner of the backseat of his father's black Chevy Impala. It was cold outside, cold enough to snow. In fact, it was snowing. Huge, fluffy flakes drifted down from the heavens above to coat the frigid ground with a white blanket. "When's Daddy comin' back, Dean?" he asked as he breath clouded white around his face.
"Soon, Sammy," Dean answered. Eight-year-old Dean gripped the gun he held tightly. His father had pressed it into his hand before leaving the brothers alone in the car and told him to protect his little brother. Dean had nodded stoically. Of course he would protect Sam; he always did. Big brothers were supposed to protect little brothers.
"Can we go play in the snow?" Sammy asked as he drew pictures with his finger on the fogged up window.
"We have to stay in the car, Sammy. It's too cold out there," Dean informed him. He used his sleeve to wipe down his window and then leaned over to wipe his brother's as well.
"Hey!" Sam protested.
"I need to be able to see," Dean explained.
"So you can see Daddy coming?" Sam asked eagerly.
"Yup," Dean answered even as his grip on the gun tightened. Sam didn't need to know that their dad was out in the snowy woods tracking something scarier than his worst nightmares.
Sammy reached up to the black knit cap he wore on his head and tugged it down over his face. "Look at me, Dean," he giggled as he turned toward his brother. "Now my face is gonna be real warm."
"You look like a bank robber," he told his brother even as his stomach began to churn anxiously. Their dad should have been back by now. What if something bad had happened to him? What if he was lying somewhere wounded in the snow? Dean ran a finger over the smooth handle of the gun he held.
Sam, oblivious to his brother's worries, giggled once more before he pulled the hat up so he could look at his brother. "I'm hungry."
Dean's stomach grumbled loudly at his brother's words. They'd missed lunch and now it was past time for supper. Surely their dad would be back soon. He reached under the backseat and produced the last granola bar from the pack their dad had bought last week. "Here, Sammy. This should hold you over."
"Thanks, Dean," the little boy smiled. He sat back on the cold leather seat in the gathering darkness and took off his black gloves before ripping the paper off of the granola bar. With his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth in concentration, he broke the granola bar in half. One side ended up being slightly bigger than the other.
Without a moment's hesitation, Sam handed the bigger piece to Dean. "Here, I know you're hungry, too. I heard your stomach growling."
"That's okay, Sammy. I'll eat when Dad gets back." Dean shook his head and ruffled his brother's brown hair.
"No, you always share with me, so I'm gonna share with you. It's what brothers do." Sam pressed the granola bar into Dean's hand that wasn't holding the gun.
"Thank, Sammy," Dean grinned, his heart warming at his little brother's thoughtfulness.
Sam crawled up onto his knees so he could look out of the back window of the Impala as he ate his half of the granola bar. "You're the bestest big brother, Dean." His eyes widened. "Here comes Daddy, and he's runnin'!"
Dean nearly choked on the last bite of granola bar and tightened his grip on the gun as he scrambled over the seat to unlock the front driver's side door for his dad.
John Winchester skidded to a stop beside the car and flung himself inside before slamming the door behind him. He fumbled with the keys in the ignition until the car roared to life.
"Didja get it, Dad?" Dean asked anxiously as he watched John look back the way he had come.
"It was worse than I thought. I'm going to need some help from Bobby on this one."
"Yay, we get to see Uncle Bobby!" Sam enthused happily from the backseat.
Dean settled in the passenger seat beside his dad. Despite the granola bar Sam had shared with him, his stomach still rumbled emptily. "Can we stop and get something to seat? Sam's hungry."
"You are, too, Dean!" Sam pointed out as he leaned over the backseat. "I heard your stomach growl."
"Not now, boys. We need to get to Bobby's as soon as we can." John knew his boys were hungry, but he didn't dare stay out in the lonely darkness with that monster on the loose.
Sam fell with a sigh into the backseat while Dean crossed his arms over his chest up front. Life was always about the hunt. Grumbly tummies and cold fingers and toes mattered little when there were lives to be saved.
Shivering despite his heavy coat, Dean forced himself to be cheerful for his little brother's sake. "Okay, Dad. It won't take too long to get to Uncle Bobby's. We can wait, right Sammy?"
Sam leaned forward and studied his brother's face carefully for a moment. If Dean could wait, so could he. "Right, Dean," he answered with a grin.
Sam settled into the corner of the backseat once again and curled up in a ball. He tugged his knit cap down over his face and tried to pretend that his tummy wasn't empty and that his toes weren't cold. To distract himself from his hunger, Sam began singing his ABCs. Dean had taught them to him and seemed proud whenever Sam sang them out loud.
"Not now, Sam!" John grunted as he squinted to see the road amidst the gathering darkness and blowing snow.
Sam sighed and huffed a breath through the black knit of his hat. He had been cold a really long time, and it was becoming hard to ignore. The coldness crept through the thick winter coat he wore and through the two pairs of socks Dean had insisted on tugging onto his feet this morning. Sam wanted to whine, but he knew his father wouldn't tolerate it. John was tired and on edge.
"We'll be at Uncle Bobby's soon," Dean soothed his brother as he looked over his shoulder from the passenger seat. "You can sing me your ABCs before you go to bed." He couldn't see anything in the darkness except the huddled ball in the corner of the seat that he knew was his little brother, but he could sense Sam's restlessness.
"Dean, help me watch the road. The snow is getting worse." John hunched forward over the steering wheel and peered into the whiteness that whipped against the windshield.
Dean swallowed against the sudden fear that clogged the back of his throat. He had no idea how his dad was even driving; it was nearly impossible to see. The road had disappeared just after they'd started out. "Maybe we should pull over, Dad," he offered quietly.
"The snow would just bury us the way it's coming down," John replied. "We have to keep going. We're getting close to Bobby's anyway."
Dean glanced toward his father and noticed the worry lines that tightened around his eyes. A gnawing fear began in his gut when he realized that John was scared.
The car chose that moment to lose traction on the road and the back end swerved before John was able to straighten it out. Sam screamed from the backseat.
"It's okay, Sammy," Dean called out even as he braced his hands against the dashboard.
"I'm scared, Dean. Can you come sit with me?" Sam pleaded. He pressed his gloved hands over the black knit cap that covered his face and tried to pretend that it wasn't snowing outside.
Dean glanced at his father who scowled at his youngest son's words. "Dad needs me right now, Sammy, but when we get to Uncle Bobby's I'll read to you. Okay?"
"Okay," the youngest Winchester mumbled.
The car slid once again. John fought against the wheel, but overcorrected. The Impala turned in a sharp circle before plowing head first into a tree.
Dazed, Dean blinked rapidly. His head ached and he found himself sitting in the floor in front of the dash. Something sticky obscured his vision. He put his hand to his forehead and was horrified to see it come away covered in blood. It trickled down his face and onto his lips.
Carefully, Dean catalogued the rest of his body. He was a bit sore all over, but his head seemed to have taken the worst damage. His foggy mind began to clear. Sammy! Dad!
Dean struggled to push himself upward and a groan escaped his lips. He wiped the blood away from his eyes and mouth with the sleeve of his jacket.
"Dean!" a frantic voice called from the backseat. "Are you okay? Please don't be dead. Please don't be dead."
"I'm not dead, Sammy," he nearly moaned as his head spun with a sickening nausea. Finally heaving his body into the seat, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes in an attempt to settle his stomach. "Are you hurt?"
"No, I just hit the back of the seat," Sam clarified, "but you're bleeding."
"It's just a scratch, kiddo; nothing to worry yourself about. Once we get to Uncle Bobby's I'll clean it up and put a bandage on it." He breathed a sigh of relief when Sam seemed to accept his answer. His relief was short-lived when Sam continued speaking.
"Dean, I can't wake Daddy up." Tears flooded the four-year-old's voice. "Is he dead?"
Dean's sluggish thoughts cleared even more at his brother's words. He blinked his eyes open and turned to look at his father.
John was lying over the steering wheel with blood staining his forehead.
"Dad?" Dean called as he placed a hand on his father's arm.
Sam hung over the seat watching anxiously.
"Dad?" Dean called again, a bit louder this time. He shook John's arm and then tapped his cheek. "Wake up, Dad. The car spun out. We need you to wake up. We can't stay here; we need to get to Uncle Bobby's."
When there was no response, fear bloomed in the eight-year-old's chest. They were caught in the middle of a snowstorm. He had no idea where they were; the road had been obliterated by snow. What if their dad was dying? Dean couldn't leave Sam alone to get help, and Sam wouldn't be able to walk very far in the deepening snow.
It was too cold to stay out here indefinitely. They were in trouble, big trouble.
To Be Continued…