Sam Winchester was six years old when he first began to think that he might not be quite normal. It wasn't anything to do with the hunting, of course, because he'd known about that for years, even if Dad and Dean hadn't wanted him to.
No, he'd come to terms with that, or as much as his six year old mind could, a long time ago, even with the fact that they never stayed anywhere long enough for him to make any friends, which was always the most troubling part. But he figured he had Dean, and that was enough.
His dad had always taught him that Dean was there to look out for him and he didn't need anyone else but him and Dean. Sam privately thought Dean was enough, but he knew it would hurt his Dad's feelings if he said so, so he kept it to himself.
Which is why he didn't understand why his class had laughed at him when he had answered a question perfectly reasonably, or so he thought.
They hadn't been in town long; it was some small town in Arizona, the kind of town where everyone knew everyone's business. Sam had heard his Dad call it "Buttfuck, Arizona" and though he wasn't quite sure what it meant, he got the feeling it wasn't something he should repeat.
Dad was hunting something; no one would tell him anything about it, even though they both knew he knew now all about Dad's Job.
Dad had seemed a little put off that Sam had badgered him so much about school, but after Dean had talked to him (at least, Sam assumed he had, because he'd sent him out of the room like he always did when there was "grown up" stuff) he let up and quickly enrolled Sam in elementary school, and to Dean's dismay, Dean in middle school.
Sam had been glad; he liked school and whenever Dad made the effort to enrol him it usually meant they were staying for more than a week.
Sam already knew the school drill; he wasn't supposed to say anything about home or Dad's Job. Dean had very solemnly explained that if anyone found out what they did they'd split them up and Dean would never see Sammy again. That was the stuff of Sam's nightmares, so he'd learned to keep his mouth shut.
That didn't work too well when second-year teachers desperate for a kid to mother decided Sam was too quiet and took it upon herself to bring him out of his shell.
"What about you, Sam?" the teacher in question, a Miss. Honey (Sam had internally laughed at the name; he may have been six but he knew a cliché when he saw one) asked kindly. Sam jumped, guiltily pulled out of his daydreams, and smiled sheepishly.
"Sorry, what?" he asked, eyes widening for effect. No one could ever say that Sam wasn't a clever bastard, even as a kid.
"What do you think you'll do when you grow up?" Miss Honey repeated, waiting expectantly. Ah. This was why he had tuned out in the first place. Listening to sixteen girls say over and over that they'll one day marry a prince and live happily ever after got tiresome.
"I'm going to marry my brother Dean and we'll take over the family business and live together forever," Sam had answered, without any hesitation or doubt in his voice, as kids were prone to do.
The entire class erupted in giggles, and Miss. Honey's face wrinkled in concern. Sam's cheeks flushed and he felt hot embarrassment churn in his stomach.
"What's so funny? I will!" he protested defiantly, a little angry that they laughed when he knew, simply knew that that's exactly what he would do. Of course, this only elicited more giggles. Sam felt his eyes welling and Miss. Honey finally saw fit to quiet them, shushing and reprimanding softly.
"That's enough, class. Now, Sam, that's a nice thought that you want to follow in your father's footsteps, but you know you can't marry your brother," she explained calmly, wondering why no one had bothered to explain this to the boy before.
"Why?" Sam asked, his face scrunched up in genuine confusion, and what looked like anguish, an unsettling expression on a six year old.
"Because guys don't marry guys, fag," spat a boy from across the room. His friends murmured in agreement and some of the girls muttered amongst themselves.
"That's quite enough, Jacob. We don't use that kind of language, and that is not the reason!" Miss. Honey interjected angrily.
If no one had explained this to the poor boy, she would have to be the one to do it, and she'd be, well, gosh-darned, if she let some redneck's kid fill the poor innocent boy's head with hate.
"No, Sam, you can marry a boy if you want to, but you can't marry your brother because he's related to you. You don't marry your family," she explained, hoping her firm tone would brook no argument, because she didn't quite know how to explain that incest is wrong to an six year old.
Luckily, Sam said nothing further, his cheeks still red and his eyes downcast. She continued on with the class, a little shaken, but she could have sworn she heard him mutter sullenly
"I still don't see why not,"
That was… troubling. Making a mental note to see his father, she tried to shake off the strange incident and didn't think about it any further that day.
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John Winchester wasn't around much for his boys. He knew that, and he regretted it, but he had a job to do. Still, it ate at him when he would come home from a hunt and even after a few days his sons seemed different.
But he'd hoped that he'd taught Dean enough to know what was right and wrong, and most importantly, how to look after Sammy. He knew deep down that it was wrong to invest so much into one child and leave him to raise the other, but he didn't see any other option. He had to keep hunting, and well, Dean was doing a pretty good job of it so far.
However, he was worried when Sam's teacher actually called him. No one had ever called him about his sons; they usually weren't even in town long enough for them to case any real trouble. He had an inkling that that might change soon, though. Dean was already looking at John's whiskey enviously, and John just knew he was going to cause him a lot of grief when he hit his teens.
"Mr. Winchester? This is Gloria Honey here. I teach your son, Sam?" she said, and the saccharine voice in his ear was enough to make John's stomach curdle. He gulped, and nodded, before realising they were in fact on the phone.
"Yes. Uh, what's the problem?" he asked gruffly, genuinely worried. Something bad must have happened for him to receive a phone call from an actual teacher. He made sure to give a right number with his contact details at the schools, whenever he enrolled the boys, just in case they needed him, but it was the only instance he ever gave out a number he actually used.
"Well, we had a little incident here today," the teacher said cautiously, and John's stomach dropped. Surely Sam hadn't started scrapping already?
"Who'd he hit?" John asked anxiously.
"Oh, no, sir, nothing like that," Gloria said hurriedly, and John's brow furrowed. What could Sam have done that didn't involve his fists?
"Well, we were discussing with the children their plans for the future, and well, your son, he uh, he told the class he was going to marry his brother," Gloria said, sounding mighty uncomfortable. John was stunned for a moment, and then had to stop himself from laughing.
"Is that all? Kids say that sort of stuff all the time," he reasoned, still trying not to laugh. What a ridiculous thing to call about. And here he was all worried. He should have known he'd never have to worry about Sammy.
"Yes, of course, sir, but I tried to explain to him that, well, you can't marry your family, and he seemed to be very adamant that there was nothing wrong with it. He just seemed so serious, and well, adult, that it worried me, and I thought I ought to let you know," she said, almost apologetically, like John had scared her into doubt. He felt a little bad.
"Oh, well, thank you for letting me know, uh, Gloria, was it? I understand; I should have a bit of a talk with young Samuel. To be honest, it was just nice seeing my boys getting along, I didn't want to question it," he chuckled, laying on the charm. He had had always had the famous Winchester charm, and he just knew his Dean would have it in abundance. Probably Sammy too.
She giggled predictably.
"Oh, well, yes, just so you know," she said sweetly, and John could practically hear her swooning just a little. He flirted a little more and then hung up the phone. Well. He supposed it couldn't hurt to sit Sammy down and explain some things, though he thought the teacher had been overreacting.
Walking back into the apartment where Sammy sat at the table, reading some sort of homework (John marvelled at the fact that they really gave six year olds homework) while Dean sat next to him, completing ignoring his own homework to watch Sammy do his. John was a hard man; had been ever since that yellow-eyed bastard took his wife, but he had to admit, his heart melted just a tiny bit when he saw his sons together like this.
"Sammy? Can we have a talk?" he asked, sitting himself down on the other side of the table. He gave Dean a look, and Dean knew instantly to make himself scarce. It was hard in a tiny motel room, so he went off to sit in the hallway.
"Sam, your teacher told me about what happened at school today," John started, unsure of exactly how to go about this.
"What happened in school today?" Sam asked, confused. He had forgotten about the annoying classmates who hadn't believed him when Dean had shown up to walk him home. Dean made everything better.
"You told the class you were going to marry your brother," John said, again concealing a smile. It was just so goddamn ridiculous.
"Oh. Yeah. I am," Sam said, looking up innocently at John.
"Well, no you're not, Sammy. You're going to marry some nice girl someday, if you're gonna marry anyone," John said firmly, and tried to make it sound like a nice order, but it was an order nonetheless.
"But … I don't like girls. They're icky and boring and nothing like Dean," Sam protested, his eyes clouding over with irritation. John sighed. Sam was already beginning to disobey. Six years old and the kid didn't listen to his father. Dean was spoiling him.
"Sam. You do not marry your family. Got that?" John said, and this time it was a harsh bark. He must have looked scarier than he intended, because Sam shrunk away and nodded meekly. John wanted to apologise in some way, but he didn't know how, so he simply stood and nodded, walking off into his own bedroom.
Dammit. Dean had never been like this. He just didn't know how to deal with an insolent child. Brushing it from his mind, sure that Dean would cheer Sam up by morning, he drifted off into a slightly alcohol-induced coma.
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"Sammy? You OK?" Dean asked when he was sure that John had entered his own room and collapsed on the bed. He recognised the sound of the bed creaking, because he'd heard it so many times now it was almost a lullaby of sorts.
Sam was sitting at the table still, but he had pushed away his work, and he was looking miserable. He looked up at Dean with his wide eyes, and dammit if that didn't make Dean so angry he wanted to storm in and scream at his father for upsetting Sammy. Instead, he settled for reclaiming his seat next to Sammy and watching him carefully.
"Why is Dad so mean, Dean?" he asked in a small voice, and Dean had to fight not to just take the small boy in his arms and hug away the fear. Of course, he wouldn't do that because he was 10 now and almost a man, and men didn't do that. Dad said so.
"Oh, Sammy, Dad isn't mean. He just … doesn't understand. What happened?" he asked. Sam looked down.
"It's stupid," he muttered, and looked away. Dean was shocked. Usually Sam shared everything with him; he'd never kept secrets.
"Come on, Sammy, I'm sure it's not," Dean coaxed, desperate to figure out what was troubling his brother. And then hopefully pummel it.
"Well. The teacher in school today asked everyone what we're going to do in, you know, life. And I said I'd grow up and marry you and we'd take over the family business. Like we will. And no one believed me. They all laughed, and called me names. And then the stupid teacher called Dad and Dad got angry and he yelled and he told me I can't marry you," Sam ranted, looking very angry for a six year old.
Dean was more surprised than anything to begin with, and then anger clouded his vision.
"Those little bastards called you names? What'd they call you, Sammy?" he asked, his voice bordering on that murderous tone he got when Sam got hurt, and Sam was smart enough not to tell Dean their names.
"Just. Names. I don't really know what they mean. Fag. I know it's mean. But I don't know why," Sam answered, looking more confused than hurt. Christ. Dean was about ready to kill something, and he wasn't exaggerating. Fucking rednecks.
"It doesn't matter what it means, Sammy. But, Sam, look, Dad was right. You can't marry me," he said softly, and Sam's eyes began to well up. Dean panicked.
"W-W-Why?" cried Sam, looking utterly distraught. Aw, shit. He'd made Sammy cry. He put an arm around him, and Sam leaned his head on Dean's chest, soaking his shirt with tears. Dean tried not to think about how Dad would react if he knew Dean was coddling Sam like this.
"Because we're brothers, Sam. People don't marry their brothers," Dean tried to explain, though he wasn't sure himself why. He just knew they didn't.
"But I love you, De! And, and what if you marry someone else? Y-You'll leave me and you can't do that, Dean! You can't leave me!" Sam bawled, bunching his fists in Dean's shirt. Dean's heart quickened and he stroked Sam's hair gently.
"Sammy, I will never ever leave you," he said seriously, looking into Sam's eyes, trying to calm him down.
"B-but if you get married you'll have to spend time with the girl and you'll forget about me and I need you Dean! You can't marry someone else!" Sam hiccupped, looking particularly possessive. It was a look Dean saw when he took the knife Sam wanted or wouldn't relinquish the remote. It said mine.
"Well, then, I guess I just won't marry someone else, will I?" Dean said, trying to lighten his voice, but to be honest, he wasn't sure he ever would. He had Sammy and hunting. Why would he ever get married?
Sam sobered up a little, and dried his eyes. He looked happier.
"Good," he said, and Dean smiled. He'd averted a disaster. Good.
"Come on, Sam, let's get you in bed, it's late," he said, and directed Sam over to the small bed Dad had insisted they share. It was the only way he got his own bedroom. And he needed his own room
- Dean wouldn't sleep in the same room with the alcohol haze around his father.
Sam pulled his pyjamas on, and curled up in bed. Dean went to put away Sam's things and maybe attempt his own homework, though in reality he knew he'd never do it all, when Sam grabbed his wrist in his own small hand.
"Dean. I can't sleep without you," he murmured, and shot Dean his puppy dog eyes. Dean rolled his eyes, but stripped off his own clothes, and climbed into bed with Sam.
"You can help me clean up in the morning then, kid," he said gruffly, and felt Sam's arm snake around behind him and forcefully pull Dean's arm around him. Dean was too tired to protest, and reassured that his Dad wouldn't see, snuggled up with Sam.
"I'll be helping you clean up forever and ever, De," he heard Sammy say sleepily before he drifted off, and Dean had to hand it to the kid. That didn't sound like too bad of an idea to him.