The first time their dad truly left them alone they were in Indiana. It was spring but it was still cold, and when Dean looked out the window he could see little blades of grass poking out cautiously from tiny mounds of snow. Dean liked the snow—or he used to; back when his mom would make snow angels with him and he and his dad would have epic snowball battles until she would yell at them to come inside before they got sick. But they didn't do that anymore.
After 'it' happened, Dean didn't talk at all for three months straight—their dad had tried everything; candy, hugs, promises—even a doctor. Dean knew it made his daddy sad, but he couldn't help it. But then Sammy said his first word—Dee—and right then Dean decided that if Sam was going to make an effort to talk to him, then he would have to try to talk to Sammy.
Dean was five and half now, and he'd never been alone for very long. They either stayed at a friend's house or at Uncle Bobby's. But things were different now. Dad had told Dean that he needed to get whatever hurt their mommy; that he had to go fight the monsters so that he and Sam could be safe. Dean didn't understand but he said he did, because his daddy had that look on his face like he was gonna cry, and Dean hated it when their dad cried.
Little Sammy had just turned one, and before their dad left he told Dean to make sure he took care of his little brother. Dean promised he would, as if he needed to be told, but they both knew he didn't. That little squirming bundle had been something Dean knew he would to protect ever since the night he carried him from the burning house.
"Dee, Dee, Dee!" Sammy squealed, a green glob of baby food running down his chin.
He smiled, two little teeth poking out from his pink gums. Sam brought his chubby little hands together excitedly, as if he'd just seen Dean do something amazing and Dean laughed even though it was gross. He used the tiny spoon to scoop the food off his brother's face, held it out, and Sam leaned into it, clamping down on it like it was the best tasting thing he'd ever had.
By the time it was over they were both covered in Sam's dinner, so Dean got a bath ready. He slid Sammy gently in the tub and climbed in beside him. Dean liked taking baths, but he wished Sammy was bigger so he could fill the tub up more and maybe even splash him. Sam didn't have a problem splashing Dean, but Dean knew Sammy was too little to know any better.
Dean squirted a drop of shampoo onto his hand and lathered up Sam's hair. Sammy giggled furiously when Dean made a beard out of the soap bubbles, reaching over to smear it off. Bath time with Sammy was always fun because it was easy to make his little brother laugh when they played in the tub.
Drying Sammy off was harder though—he always put up a struggle at first. Little arms and legs flailed, and Sammy's entire tiny body wiggled, desperately trying to escape Dean's grasp. By now Dean had a lot of practice though, so he knew to give Sammy his teddy bear if he wanted to distract him, smiling when he shoved it into his mouth. It always worked though, and then Dean could finish changing his diaper and putting clean clothes on his baby brother to sleep in.
When they were finally curled up together on the bed—Sammy on the inside by the wall, so he couldn't fall off—Dean relaxed into his breathing. After Sam fell asleep Dean would let the sound and rhythmic movement of his chest to rock him into a peaceful sleep. And on the nights when he was scared, the nights when he missed his mommy the most and his daddy was nowhere to be found, Dean would bury his face in Sammy's neck, the smell of baby shampoo making him smile and reminding him that he had to be brave. He'd wrap his arm around his baby brother's waist, taking comfort in his soft, pudgy body, and know that even though he didn't have hardly anybody sometimes, he always had Sammy—so he was never truly alone.