I don't own them but I am asking Sam to marry me because it is leap year!!
New Shoes
The first pair of shoes Sam ever has are bright blue booties, knitted by Mary and forced on to Sam's wriggling feet by her tender hands, tickling and coaxing, until they sit, tied by white ribbon, hugging tiny ankles.
Dean thinks they are lame, but Sam seems to like them, his deep brown eyes sparkling, his toothless mouth open in a drooling smile, his woollen clad feet waving in the air, as if to properly show off his shoes.
They burn in the fire and Sammy never wears booties again, John just putting his feet in mismatching socks, careless of anything other than keeping his son warm.
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When he starts walking, Dean thinks that Sam has to have shoes. He persuades his dad to take his baby brother to a thrift shop where they find some little brown boots that look about the right size.
The lady there clicks and coos, explaining that, at his age, Sam should have his feet measured correctly. His dad gives her his usual stony stare and she sighs, putting the boots in a paper bag and handing them to Dean, who sits a wiggling Sammy on his knee and, finally, gets the boots done up.
Three weeks later they are pinching Sam after a mammoth growth spurt and his dad is forced, cursing and swearing, into the local branch of 'Shoes 4 You' to have Sammy's feet measured.
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Sam wants Nikes because all the cool boys wear them. Dad snorts and gives him Dean's old trainers, explaining that they will fit well enough and, with a pair of new laces, they will look as good as new.
Sam doesn't say much, but his jaw clenches and Dean can tell that he is resisting a tantrum, tears glittering in his eyes.
Sam is fourteen and Dean gets it, he really does, and he knows how Sam feels, he's been there, but his hand me downs usually came from dad.
Two nights of hustling pool leaves him with a sore throat and an aching back, but the look in Sam's hazel eyes when he hands over the new trainers makes it worth every moment.
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Dean watches as Sam thrusts the boots into his duffle, cursing and swearing as one falls to the floor with a thud. Sam's teeth grind together and he pulls out the other boot, tossing it onto the floor to meet its partner.
"I'll buy another pair in Palo Alto," he says, his mouth set and angry and Dean shrugs, picking the boots up and putting them, neatly, on the top of his old wardrobe.
They won't fit him, but he leaves them there, a strange but fitting reminder of what he has lost.
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The only pair of shoes that survive the fire are the ones on Sam's feet. When Sam is up to it, they go into town and Sam, head down, goes in the direction of the nearest thrift store, habits of a lifetime dying hard in his addled and grief filled brain.
Dean catches his arm and pulls him away. There is a sports store down the street and Dean hands over his emergency silver card, letting Sam get whatever he wants, mindful of his growth spurt and the fact that his, 6ft 5inch brother, takes a size 13.
Sam is so pathetically grateful and nothing like his 'old' Sam, that it hurts Dean to even think about it. He helps Sam carry the boxes back to the Impala, tossing them in on top of the weapons, the journal and the other 'tricks' of their trade.
"Thanks," Sam says, with a watery smile and Dean takes it, because, for now, he is gonna take what he can get.
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Sam is sitting in the motel room, bruised face, bloodied knees and one shoe. He cracks his toes, wriggling them inside his sock and Dean sighs, biting his lip to stop the irritation.
"You can't just go into a shop and buy one shoe, Sam," he grinds out, kneeling down and ripping away the denim from Sam's ripped and blood-stained knee.
Sam hisses and Dean knows that it must sting. His brother looks all of ten, his bony knees sticking out of his jeans, his face black and blue, his eyes watery and confused.
"I'll manage," Sam says, stoically, and Dean feels instant guilt, knowing that none of this is Sam's actual fault.
"Maybe we'll get you some bunny rabbit slippers," Dean quips and Sam's flick round the head is reward enough.
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The first pair of shoes that Sam ever buys for his older brother are to replace the one he lost in the pit, burnt away by hell fire, by hot coals beneath his poor, tortured feet.
Sam kneels at the edge of the bed and slips the rubber flip flops on, his fingers lightly massaging across the blisters and the reddened skin.
Dean's eyes open a slit and his hoarse voice is so faint that Sam thinks he might be hearing things.
"Those are so not cool, dude," he grinds out, coughing and choking, his clothes stinking of sulphur and smoke.
Sam lets his head rest against the soul of Dean's foot and smiles, content.
When they move on, one of the blue rubber shoes ends up tied to the Impala's boot as they roar out of town, flopping about in the breeze, as they drive on towards the rest of their lives.
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When Sam's first baby is born, Dean knits him a pair of blue bootees with white ribbons.
Sam never lets him forget it.
End