A Mother's Day Poem

by Queen Edmund Pevensie

Mother's Day in class for Sam Winchester was yet another way that Sam realized that he was different from his class, and when he had to write a poem for his mother that he never met, he doesn't know quite what to do. But Sam remembers his big brother.

A/N: Happy belated Mother's Day, to Supernatural Mothers, and apparently older sisters. The last thing I expected yesterday was a poem from my sister on my bed for Mother's Day. Most fifteen year old girls don't expect things for Mother's Day, much less from their little sister. But, not that any of you actually care, it was the sweetest thing that she chose to write a poem to me over our mom. Anyway, her poem inspired this piece of fluff. Actually, my amazing little sister inspires most of my brother fics.

Disclaimer: Don't own Supernatural. You should be grateful.

Mother's Day Poem

Mother's Day was approaching and as always, Dean Winchester acted like it wasn't. But of course, just because Sam's big brother said Mother's Day wasn't happening, didn't mean the rest of the world followed.

So Sam Winchester's first grade class jumped into Mother's Day head first, and Sam felt, once again, singled out.

Because Sam Winchester didn't have a mom like the other boys and girls in his class. All he had was a big brother and a dad who never wanted to talk about her.

The whole week before Mother's Day, Sam's first grade class made cards and read stories about thank their mom's for being so amazing.

And when he saw Dean at the end of the day, Sam's curiosity was piqued by the sudden interest in mothers.

"Dean?" he asked, holding Dean's hand as they crossed the street. "Why don't we have a mom?"

Dean looked at his brother a little irritably. Dean's fifth grade class was also participating in Mother's Day Festivities, and Dean's response hadn't been nearly as accepting as Sam's. "I told you Sammy," he muttered. "Mom died when you were a baby."

"Oh," said Sam. "Right. How?"

Dean let go of Sam's hand. "Shut up, Sam," he said.

"But, Dean –"

"We don't talk about Mom, Sam," growled Dean. "You know that."

But Dean –"

"What?"

"We're writing poems tomorrow," said Sam. "About or Mom. For Mom. For Mother's Day."

"So?"

"What am I supposed to do?" he pleaded. "I can't be the only one without a poem!"

"Yes, you can, Sammy," said Dean. "And you sure as hell better get used to it."

"But, Dean!"

"What do you want me to say, Sam?" asked Dean, beyond frustrated. "You don't even have a mom, and besides, you never knew her!" With that, Dean readjusted the straps on his backpack and sped up a little to walk ahead of his brother, who, in turn, sulked behind.

But when Dad went out that night, Dean still got Sam dinner, and made sure Sam's homework was done, and put Sam to bed, and put him back to bed when he woke up from nightmares at two in the morning, and he did it without a word of complaint.

And the next morning, Dean walked Sam to school and dropped him off at his classroom before going to his own, not minding at all that he was late and he explained coolly to his fifth grade teacher at their current school that he had to make sure his brother was settled in, in the first grade.

Over in the first grade, Sam took his seat. Sam handed in his homework that Dean had helped him with, and when it was time for math, he could do it all because dean had taught him. And at lunch, he ate the sandwich Dean had made him. In music class, Sam shared a song that Dean sang. All the time.

And when they sat down to write a poem for their moms, Sam wrote one for Dean. Because Dean did all the things the other boys' and girls' moms did.

The teacher handed them back the next day, all laminated and shiny and special for the kids to give to their mothers. When she handed Sam's back, she gave him a sad smile. But Sam didn't care, because he had a poem. One for Dean.

And that Sunday, when Sam woke Dean and handed him the shiny piece of cardstock with Sam's writing scrawled all over it Dean laughed.

"What's this, Sammy?" he asked, taking it.

"My poem," he announced proudly. "For you."

Dean looked at him curiously and over at Dad, who was just waking up himself. "I think Sam got me something for Mother's Day, Dad," he called over to him. Dad laughed and sat up.

"It that so, Sammy?" he asked.

And Sam nodded. "Read it, Dean," he urged. Dean took a deep dramatic breath, and started to read.

"How To Be My Big Brother," read Dean. "By Sam.

"Play army men with me,

And sing to Dad's music badly in the Impala.

And let me read to you before we go to bed,

And watch scary movies when Dad is out.

Cover my eyes during the scary parts even though I peek anyway.

And help me with my homework

And make me dinner almost all the nights.

Then tuck me in and say 'night Sam.'

Wake me up from nightmares and tell me it will be all right.

And make lunch and sometimes sneak some candy in there when Dad's not looking.

And take me to school and pick me up.

And yell when I talk about Mom.

But still do all these things even when you don't want to talk to me."

Dean looked at Sam, who was grinning like an idiot. "You make me sound like a girl, Sammy," said Dean. Sam giggled, and Dean smiled. "Thanks, Sam," he added, wiping a stray tear off his face.

"You're crying," said Sam.

"Yeah," admitted Dean. "Because I'm happy." Sam smiled and Dean laughed. "Jesus, Sammy. You're turning me into a girl."

A/N: Because everyone needs a crying Dean.