Sam is five and two weeks into kindergarten when he starts asking questions. Sitting at the kitchen table, a bowl of spaghettios at his ready, and a spoon gripped awkwardly in his hand, Sam looks up abruptly, and the words that leave his mouth suddenly leave the room feeling much smaller than it had before. He receives no answer accept for the sounds of shuffling chairs against worn tiled floor as the other two people in the room look for something to say.
"Why don't I have a mom?" He asks again, presses, like he's going to learn to do as he gets older for information that he wants. The silence that follows is enough to leave even the small boy feeling awkward and fidgety. Dean gets up from the table and dumps a full bowl of spaghettios down the drain. Sam opens his mouth to ask what's going on when John gets up too. Sam follows him into the small living area where he sees the man digging through a large, military style duffel before he retrieves a small bottle filled with amber liquid.
Sam watches him for a moment, standing awkwardly in the doorway between the two rooms, arms limp at his sides, features pulled tight in confusion. His dad takes a long drink, and Sam's seen him do this before and suddenly he wishes he were anywhere else, had never asked the question, and his stomach growls, reminding him of his full bowl of spaghettios still waiting for him at the kitchen table. Before he can see John take another drink, he's darting back into the kitchen, pulling himself up on to the chair and stuffing a spoonful of the canned dinner into his mouth. He stays there long after his stomach is full, pulls his knees up to his chest and wonders for the hundredth time why he never received an answer to such an innocent question.
When John enters the kitchen some time later, Sam looks up at him and he feels something clench painfully in the pit of his stomach, some emotion he's not quite familiar with. His dad's eyes are rimmed in red, his features drawn and downcast and in his hand he holds a now much emptier bottle of something that Sam knows he's not allowed to touch. Sam stares for a moment before remembering that staring is rude and looks down at his knees. He feels rather than sees his dad approach him and he looks up just as the man reaches down and pulls him up to his feet by his arm. Sam quickly complies, even though he's usually not supposed to stand on the furniture and blinks when John wraps his arms around him. The hold is uncomfortable, too tight, his dad smells like he does the nights that he comes home real late and Dean tells him not to bother him, and Sam's arms are locked by his sides, but he buries his face into the man's broad shoulder anyways.
John pulls away, gripping his sons chin tight in his hand and lifts the boy's head so he's sure he's looking at him. "Don't ask again, Sammy," John orders and the grip is tight and the look in his dad's eyes scares him so he doesn't argue and nods his head, long bangs spilling into his eyes as he does. John lets go after a few more seconds and promptly turns and heads to the living room, his bottle still in his hands before Sam leans a little bit just to see him practically crash into the couch. The boy bites his lip and slowly climbs down off the chair, quietly making his way to the room he shares with his brother. The room is dark but he sees the lump that he knows to be his big brother and hesitantly climbs up next to him, satisfied with burying his small head underneath the older boy's chin.
"Sammy?" The muttered voice was groggy but heavy with something else, again, something Sam couldn't quite identify.
"M'sorry Dean," Sam replies, his voice wavering and his eyes stinging, even though he isn't sure what he's apologizing for.
He hears Dean sigh and pull an arm around him tight, but not tight like dad's was, and for that he's grateful. "You had a mom," Dean tells him and Sam is smart enough to know that he's supposed to stay quiet and just listen. "She loved you. And she didn't wanna leave but she had to."
Sam wants to ask why but the question gets lodged in his throat at the last moment and he nods his head once and closes his eyes.
Sam pieces it together later from years worth of conversation and tiptoeing around the topic, but he never asks again.