This is a companion piece to my other work, Every Hero Has an Origin Story. That was one of my favorite stories I've written, and now I'll be writing a similar piece but from Sam's perspective.
The thing about this story is that I really want to highlight the differences in how Sam and Dean were raised, to point out why they turned out so differently. So each chapter is titled with a "quote" that Sam was told, but Dean never was. Hopefully it makes more sense as you go along.
I will be updating every Wednesday, (with the exception of today, so I can get more feedback before the second chapter.)
Thank you so much for reading this! Enjoy!
November 1987
You Shouldn't Be Alone
Sammy never remembered a time before the fire. He didn't even remember much for a while after that.
His whole life was lived on the road, in the backseat of the Impala. Moving from apartment to apartment, motel to motel. He knew nothing else but that.
Daddy was always busy, but he didn't mind. Dean was always there, and would play with him, whenever. It wasn't strange to Sam, how Dean always took care of him. He thought that's just always what big brothers did- feed you, play with you, teach you how to read. He thought that was normal because that's all he ever knew.
His first vivid memory was when he was four, and he got sick.
"Deeeeaaan?"
Sam's usually small voice rang out from the bedroom. He heard Dean open the door, and the light came on, much too bright. "Yeah, buddy?"
"Deeeaan... (cough) I don't feel good..." Sam sniffled, poking his head out from under the covers. He felt real cold, his tummy was hurting, but mostly he had a bad cough.
"Let me see," Dean stood over him, pressing his hand against his forehead. Dean's hand felt warm to the touch, but Dean proclaimed that Sam was burning up. "I think you have a fever, Sammy. Uh... you need something to drink."
Sam curled up into a ball under the covers as he waited for Dean. He had total faith that Dean was going to make him feel better, not realizing that Dean had no idea what to do.
Dean came back, quickly, with a glass of mostly-warm tap water, which Sam refused. "Sam, you gotta drink it. It's good for you."
Sam shook his head. "Noo-(cough)-oo... i just wanna sleep..." Sam covered his face with the blanket once again, and heard Dean's exasperated sigh from the other side of it.
"Sammy, you won't be able to sleep like this." Sam felt Dean sit on the bed, and try to take the covers off of him.
"Deeaaan... where's daddy?"
"Sammy, I told you already. He's working."
"But I need medi-sthin." Sam whined. He couldn't understand why his dad was gone so much, especially when he needed him- like now.
Dean was quiet, thinking, for a few moments. "You're right, Sammy. I'll get you some medicine." Sam pulled the covers off to look at his brother. Dean looked a little bleak but determined. "Can you walk?"
Sam nodded. "Okay, here, wrap up in this blanket." Dean helped Sam stand, and Sam clutched onto the blanket. "Alright, you have shoes? Let's put some shoes on you."
Twenty minutes later, Sam stood outside a local drugstore, while Dean went inside. Sam wasn't sure what his brother planned to do, but he still sat outside, snuggling into his blanket and letting out a wet cough. It was cold outside, which only made it worse.
While he waited, a loud pick-up truck pulled into a nearby parking spot. A red-headed woman in a leather jacket and knee- high boots stepped out, locking the truck. She began walking up to the door, but stopped before going inside.
"Hello, there." The woman smiled kindly at Sam, who looked up and smiled weakly back. "What's your name?"
"Sam-" He answered right before coughing again.
"Are you okay? Are you sick?" Sam nodded. "Are your parents inside?" She asked, worriedly.
"No. (Cough) My brot-er is..." Sam glanced through the big glass doors, but he couldn't spot Dean. He wished he'd hurry up. He wasn't really allowed to talk to strangers, but the woman was pretty nice.
The woman knelt beside him, looking him over. She reached to touch his face, but Sam pulled away. "Why are you waiting outside?"
"Cause he told me to,"
The woman frowned. "You shouldn't be out here in the cold, hunny. Not all alone. Why don't you come inside? You can wait there."
Sam was about to protest, when the door swung open. "Dean!"
Dean immediately went to Sam's side. He stood Sam up, and puled him in close. The woman stood up and stared at him in surprise. "Your his brother?"
"Yeah," Dean glanced down at Sam, who looked away.
"How old are you?" Her voice quickly changed from surprised to hostile.
"What's it matter to you?" Dean retorted, accusingly. "Come on, Sammy. Let's go home."
"Wait!" The woman called as they shuffled quickly away. "Where are your parents?" They ignored her, and left as quickly as possible.
"I told you not to talk to anybody, Sammy," Dean sighed as they walked home.
"Sorry, De- (cough) Dean. She just asked me some stuff," Sam let his head fall against Dean's side, and closed his eyes as his brother led him back to the motel.
"I know, Sammy..." Dean ran his fingers through Sam's hair. "Look, Sammy. I got you some medicine." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a bottle of red cough syrup.
"You buyed that all by yourself?"
Dean shrugged. "Not exactly. Doesn't matter. But it's gonna make you feel better, and you can sleep, now."
Sam nodded. "Good. I'm tired..."
That night, Dean gave Sam a little of the syrup, which tasted gross. After he finally managed to swallow it, Dean lied down next to him. Sam curled up next to his big brother, laying his head against his chest. He fell asleep, listening to Dean play the imagining game.
He woke up early in the morning the next day. He didn't feel all that good, but he wasn't coughing anymore. He crawled out of bed, noticing that Dean wasn't in the room anymore. "Dean?"
"Heya, Sammy." Sam was surprised to hear John's voice when he opened the bedroom door.
"Daddy!" Sam grinned, running over to his father. John smiled, picking Sam up in his arms. Sam wrapped his little arms around his father's neck, happy to have him home, again.
"How you feelin', kid? Your brother said you weren't feelin' so good." John pressed his hand against Sam's forehead, much like Dean had the night before. Sam smiled, shaking his dad's hand away.
"I feel better now, Dean got me medi-sthin."
"So I heard," John glanced over at his oldest, and Sam realized Dean was sitting on the couch. "Good job, Dean."
Dean glowed at his fathers praise, and Sam would later wish he had taken the time to appreciate that look, because he'd rarely see it again.
"Heroes are born out of the ashes of adversity..." -Reed B Markham