Carry On My Sons. Carry On.
Authors Note: I am totally obsessed with the relationship between Sam and Dean and I have wanted to write something that uses a lullaby version of "Carry On Wayward Son" that I imaged could have been sung by Mary to the young boys. I hope you enjoy and please give me and constructive criticism. I seriously want to write more on here and want to know if it is worth it! Thank You.
Disclaimer: Sadly these characters are not mine =( And the song lyrics are not mine either =( They both belong to their rightful owners.
"Carry on my Wayward Son,
They'll be peace when you are done.
Lay your weary head to rest,
Don't you cry no more."
Sam was crying in his cot, yet again. His little squirming body was writhing around clenching his tiny fists together and four year old Dean was attempting to block out the shrilling sound.
Mary was sat quietly, gracefully beside the cot watching Sammy's every little move, with John standing protectively over her. It was here that Dean suffered his first moments of jealousy. Dean had peered into Sammy's nursery, 'his nursery', earlier that evening and had noticed the small figure sprawled out in 'his' cot. Dean had thought little of this thieving behaviour until neither of his parents paid any attention and were both fixated on this child that was clawing out with his hands, almost desperately. Dean scattered, storming to his room the anger swelling through his veins at the idea of this impostor removing his parents from him.
It was only then that Mary had noticed Dean's reluctant behaviour to the newborn and rose from his seated position in pursuit of him, she pecked John on the cheek as she said with sweet emotion, "I'm going to find Dean."
John, who was took fixated on the newborn to think much of Mary's comment, just nodded slowly his eyes burning into those of Sam's, "Sure. Whatever."
Mary had smiled to the extent a tear of happiness had swelled in her eyes as she pictured her new son growing alongside Dean and John. The perfect family. Dropping this thought Mary had left the nursery and had creeped effortlessly into Dean's room, only to see a bleak outline of Dean's body tightly curled under the sheets. Mary's face flooded with minor concern, "Dean?" She whispered helplessly.
Dean had not replied, until he felt the sheets brushing back across his face and soon his mothers comforting face was distorted by tears that blotted his view.
"Oh Dean. Whats wrong?" Mary had asked with her warm, comforting nature.
"What if the monsters get Sammy?" Dean had stated blankly.
Mary smiled, "All those monsters." She breathed slowly, it felt so wrong lying to her own flesh and blood, but she wanted - more than anything - the perfect, healthy family. No monsters. No demons. Nothing. "Those monsters are myths Dean. I promise you there are no monsters under your bed, and none are coming to get Sammy. I swear." She looked into Dean's eyes with the look of deep persuasion she had mastered having lied all these years.
"Cross your heart?" Dean had asked cautiously.
Mary nodded, still shedding her warming smile, "Cross my heart."
Dean placed his head back on the pillow, with more comfort as he stared at his mothers face, lost in a world of anger, jealousy, fear and disappointment. However as Mary's mouth opened, once more, Dean forgot all of these emotions and just listened to his mothers sweet voice.
Mary sat back beside Dean's bed, running her head through Dean's hair and began to sing 'her boys' lullaby, she sung it with a deep, slow rhythm, holding the notes in a beautiful sweet tone.
"Carry on my Wayward Son,
They'll be peace when you are done.
Lay your weary head to rest,
Don't you cry no more."
She sang this a few times over, until she removed her hand from Dean's forehead as his breathing levelled and his eyes faded shut, he had fallen into a deep, protected sleep.
John stormed into the room and dropped his shot gun to the floor. Only to see Dean's angry, twelve year old, face staring at him. Dean's eyes flashed. John paused as he noticed Sam asleep on the bed and listened as Dean half-snarled, half-whispered, "Sammy's sleeping."
Dean went over to the sofa were the shut gun had slipped too and picked it up, preparing to change the ammunition inside, but before he could even unlock the chamber, John had snatched it from his grasp and had growled, "I'm going back out. Do not leave the house."
Dean just nodded annoyed at the fact that his dad was not doing anything to help eight year old Sammy get through the notion of 'monsters being real'. Ever since John had found out Sammy new he had been snappy with Dean, and blankly pushed Sammy out of the picture. This upset Dean more then the arguments they were having.
Dean moved toward Sammy's bed and just sat there looking down at his pale face in a temporary bliss of dreams. It wasn't until Sammy's breath got a little faster and he stirred that Dean new he was awake. Slowly Sammy sat up.
"Dad came didn't he?"
Dean just nodded, unsure of what to say.
"What was he doing?"
Again Dean was unsure, he wasn't sure what Sammy wanted to hear. So hesitantly he answered, "He was hunting."
Sammy paused and asked hopefully, "Peasants?"
Dean paused. A tear almost rose in his eye, Sam was in denial. "No Sammy. He was hunting monsters."
Sammy groaned and tears fell from his eyes, "I thought it was a dream."
"No. Its not a dream."
Dean watched the tears fall from his brothers eyes, unsure of what to do, but he just kept Sammy talking. Hoping this was the best thing to do. Meanwhile Sammy slunk back to a sleeping position and rested his head on the pillow, tears still falling from his eyes. Dean thought about what his mother used to do when he was sad and glanced at Sammy, before beginning the lullaby. His voice was far from sweet and beautiful, but he sang it with meaning and desperation. He sang it as if he was hauling himself out of the pitt, gasping for air as he clawed through the soil.
"Carry on my Wayward Son,
They'll be peace when you are done.
Lay your weary head to rest,
Don't you cry no more."
He sang it twice over, smiling as he noticed the emotions on Sammy's face change from dispair to hope.
Dean was hurtled down the road in his beloved 'baby', the radio was on blurting out his usual crap music, attempting to lighten a grim mood. Sam sat haunched backwards, his eyes fixated on the road a head of him.
Dean noticed the sudden change of heart and paused. He presumed he was still on about Jessica's death, although it was six months on Sammy was still affected by it. He asked roughly, "Come on Sammy. Whats up?"
Sam glowered back at Dean, "Don't call my Sammy. Sammy is a babies name."
Dean smiled, attempting to lighten the mood, "And your a baby. Sammy."
Sam punched Dean in the arm, before glaring back at the road his eyes flashing in anger. Dean had turned his head away from the road and was staring at Sam with a look of concern.
"What?" Sam had growled.
"You what?" Dean asked, rather confused.
"Your looking at my like a wounded puppy."
Dean was silenced, until he asked blankly, "Come on man. Whats up."
Sam flipped out.
"God Dean! Your can be so stupid! You know whats freaking up!"
Dean looked a bit taken aback, but answered calmly, "Yes, but its been more than sixth months Sam."
"Thats not the point, Dean!" Sam paused to take a rather rough breath, "I'm going to hunt that blasted son of a bitch down."
Dean nodded in agreement.
"You agree?" Sam asked, confused.
Dean nodded again, "Well... Yes, but you freaking got-to quit the 'grumpy Sam' or I swear I will call you Sammy for the rest of your entire life!"
Sam turned to the window away from Dean, he was in a mixture of confused emotions. He was sad, happy, angry, confused. He wasn't sure what to think anymore. All he could think about was Jessica.
Dean pulled the car over onto a by-pass and put his arm over Sam's seat and turned his face to Sam's, "Look at me, Sam."
Sam, reluctantly, turned his head.
"We will hunt this evil son of a bitch down, but right now you've got to lighten up. I am not going to drive across the country with you in a grumpy fit." He paused, "What was it mum sang whenever we were angry?"
Sam smiled at the thought, before stated under his breath, "Carry On My Wayward Son."
Dean smiled and put the car into gear and started singing, badly, at the top of his lungs.
"Carry on my Wayward Son,
They'll be peace when you are done.
Lay your weary head to rest,
Don't you cry no more."
It only took one round of the song with Dean singing badly, and loudly, before Sam had joined in. The were almost screeching at the top of their lungs as the drove down at 70mph down an empty dark road.
"Carry on my Wayward Son,
They'll be peace when you are done.
Lay your weary head to rest,
Don't you cry no more."
Dean had begun hitting his hands on the stirring wheel and Sam was throwing his arms around, in a bad conductor like way. It was at this moment that Dean learnt the meaning of understanding, and the meaning of the phrase, 'There are good things and bad things in life, it doesn't mean the good things will rule out the bad things, but they can always help you manage.' Dean knew that Sam was bleeding inside, but right now he was an explosion of colour, love and happiness whilst singing a song that meant the world to these two brothers.
With that they exchanged a glance, eyes locking for just moment.