Sam sat hunched over his desk, rubbing furiously at his eyes. He wasn't going to cry. His kindergarten, Ms. Carter, came over and knelt down next to his desk.

"What's the matter, Sam?" she asked.

The tears finally won and spilled down Sam's cheeks. He kept his eyes on his desk and shrugged miserably. He just wanted Ms. Carter to go away.

"Come on, now," she coaxed. 'Tell me what's wrong."

"I can't do this project," he finally said through his tears.

"Oh, now that's not true. Here. I'll help you. What's giving you trouble?"

Sam just cried harder, "I know how to cut out hearts and glue them!" he wailed.

"Well, what's the matter then?"

"I don't-" Sam took a deep, shaky breath. "I don't have a mom to give it to," he whispered.

Ms. Carter felt her heart ache, and her maternal instinct kicked in. She rubbed a hand on Sam's back. "Oh. Oh, Sam. I'm so sorry. How about this? Make a picture anyway, and then you can pick someone else to give it to. Okay?"

Sam responded with another shrug. Ms. Carter leaned forward and whispered in his ear. "And I'll let you choose the snack today."

Sam sniffled, brightening a little and wiping the tears away. "Okay."

"Okay," Ms. Carter said, then stood and continued her rounds around the class.

Sam set to work, coloring the hearts blue and green and red and black.

"You're using boy colors," the girl next to him pointed out.

"That's because I'm making this for my dad," Sam replied. The girl nodded solemnly, understanding.

"I don't have a mommy wither," she said in a low voice. "She ran away with the milkman."

Sam nodded. "Mine went to heaven," he said with a quiet reverence. She patted him on the hand in consolation and continued her work.

He started cutting out the hearts, sticking his tongue out in concentration. He glued the carefully to the blue paper he'd picked out. But he had a problem. The colors weren't dark enough to cover the word 'Mom' that was printed on each heart. Finally, he decided to write the word 'DAD' in big, bold letters over the whole piece of art.

There.

Dad would love it.

Ms. Carter came over again and Sam told her he wanted goldfish for snack. When she passed them out, she put a little extra on Sam's napkin with a wink. Sam ate a few, then, when he was sure no one else was looking, put the rest in his pocket.

When his dad picked him up that day, Sam could hardly contain himself, bouncing in the backseat as they drove to the motel. Dean scowled and twisted to look at him from the front seat.

"What are you so excited about?" he asked.

John looked at Sam in the rearview mirror. "I have to admit, Sam, I'm curious too," he said with a bemused face.

"It's a surprise," Sam declared.

Dean rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to say something, but John shot him a warning glance and shook his head a little. Dean sighed.

When they got back, Sam very nearly flew to the door, John laughing as he trailed behind him. He unlocked and opened the door and Sam scurried in, John following. Dean came in after them, looking highly annoyed.

"Alright, now what is it you're going to surprise me with?" John asked.

Sam dug into his pocket and pulled out the napkin with the goldfish in it. He handed it to John, who took it and opened it, only to have a bunch of orange crumbs fall out. Sam's face fell. John grinned at him.

"It's okay, Sammy. I didn't really like goldfish anyway."

Sam perked up, undefeated. He unzipped his backpack and pulled out the picture he had made, presenting it to John as though it were the Holy Grail.

John took it and tried to smile. "Thanks," he managed. He knew that the hearts were meant for Mother's Day (even without the word 'Mom' printed on them). He tousled Sam's hair a little, then went to the fridge, pulled out a beer, and locked himself in his room.

Sam watched him, confused and more than a little hurt. He started to the door.

"Sammy," Dean said. Sam turned. His older brother shook his head. "Come on. I've got some change. Let's go to the arcade."

Sam trudged after him. "Didn't he like it?" he whimpered.

"Of course he did," Dean said, knowing is was weak, and that Sam knew it too. They were mostly out the door when Dean stopped.

"I forgot the key. Wait here, Sammy." He ran back inside to get the key. He heard something coming from John's room and went to the door. He pulled away as he realized his father was crying. He went back out, his heart pounding, and shut the door behind him.

"Come on, Sammy," he said.

He never mentioned what he'd heard.

XXX

When Sam and Dean first arrived at John's apartment some fifteen years later, Sam wasn't expecting to find much. But he did. Rummaging through the drawers, he found a folded piece of blue construction paper. Frowning, hopeful that there could be some clue to John's whereabouts, he unfolded it.

Tears sprang into his eyes as the fell upon the scribble-colored hearts, the word 'dad' scrawled over them in a child's hand-writing. He folded it and put it in his pocket.

XXX

They'd found John, and lost him again, then found him, and then lost him for good. Sam's tears were bitter, Dean's buried. When Dean turned from the blasé to get a beer in a desperate attempt to drown his sorrow with alcohol, Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a worn and folded piece of blue paper and threw it onto the flames.