"DEAN" Sam screamed at the top of his lungs, "Dean there's something out there."
Dean leapt off his bed and ran to the front of their motel, instantly on alert. He found Sam standing on the couch, frantically pointing to the window. The three year olds eyes were wide and fearful. Gun, where's the gun? Get the salt and hide Sammy in the back room.
He looked out the window, bracing himself for vampires or zombies, but instead found . . .
"Snow?" Dean asked irritated, "Jeez kid you almost gave me a heart attack."
"Not a monster?" he asked, still not convinced.
"Not a monster" he said rolling his eyes, "It's snow, you know, like in cartoons. It's frozen water, it's not going to hurt you, you big baby."
Sam puffed up his chest and gave Dean a bitch face that he's been working on since his he could talk. By preschool he should have it mastered.
"I not a baby!"
"Whatever, you just got out of diapers" Dean said, "Now do you want to go out there and play or not?"
"YEAH!" he shouted, jumping off the couch.
Despite his bored exterior, Dean was excited. He couldn't remember the last time they were somewhere that had snow. They had been cooped up in the motel all day. Dad said he would be back tonight, but you never know. They both needed to let off some steam.
"Wait Sam" Dean called after his brother, "You can't go out like that."
Sam had put his sneaker on, but was still in his pajamas, no coat. Dean helped him into his sweatshirt, winter jacket, mittens, hat, and just to be safe, a scarf. The kid ended up looking a little bit like a marshmallow but Dean didn't care. If Sam got sick on his watch, well it wouldn't be pretty.
After getting himself dressed, Dean opened the door and helped Sam down the steps. Of course, Sam immediately face planted in the snow. Dean locked the door and helped him out.
"Dean it's cold!" Sam observed.
"Nice Einstein. Now try and stay up" Dean ordered.
Being an overactive and slightly aggressive eight year old, the first thing Dean did was make a snowball and hurl it at Sam. He went down with another plop.
Dean expected Sam to cry, or whine. But instead, he rolled himself over and gave him a toothy grin.
"Show me how to do that Dean!" Sam yelled, "I wanna try."
"Okay" Dean said, coming over, "It's not that hard."
Dean showed Sam how to pack the snow together, but Sam was epically failing. His chubby mitten hands couldn't do anything besides smash the snow together. Taking pity, Dean handed him one of his perfect snowballs.
"You're the best Dean" Sam exclaimed, and Dean felt a little bit of brotherly pride.
"Okay, now the first thing you need to know about snowball fights is – "
Whatever he was about to say was cut off by the wad of snow caught in his throat. Sam and thrown the snowball directly at his face with a power no three year old should have. At least Dean had the decency to hit him in the back.
"You shouldn't have done that Sammy" Dean said in a snarly voice.
Sam looked at him in confusion, before realizing what was about to happen. He opened his mouth to scream just as Dean tackled him. They rolled around in the snow, the air filled with Sam's infectious giggles and he tried to wiggle out of Dean's arms.
Eventually they stopped, out of breath and completely soaked.
"Now what Dean?" Sam asked.
"How about we build a snowman?" Dean suggested.
"Let's make us!" Sam declared, "We'll make a snow Dean and a snow Sammy"
"And a snow Dad" Dean added, "And a snow Uncle Bobby"
"And a snow mommy" Sam said excitedly.
Dean didn't say anything, just waited for his stomach to stop clenching up, like it did every time someone mentioned his mom. Sam was too young, he didn't get it yet. He must have been quiet for a while because Sam tugged at his sleeve.
"I sowwy Dean" he said softly, "Don't be mad at me."
"I'm not mad at you Sammy" he said, "I was just . . . You know what, I have something else we could do, more fun than making a snowman."
"What?" he asked, instantly curious, mom completely forgotten.
"Come here" Dean said, taking his hand and half walking half dragging him to a clean spot of snow.
"Now copy me" Dean said, dropping down into the snow.
He spread his arms out and then his legs. Sam copied his position, and slowly moved his little limbs back and forth.
"What are we doing?" Sam asked.
"We're making snow angels" Dean said, "now be quiet."
For a few minutes they watched the snow fall, and Dean let his mind wander. He wondered what he would be doing right now if Mom was still alive. Maybe he wouldn't be wearing shoes that were too small or maybe Sam's hair wouldn't be so long. Would they still be living in their house? Would they have gotten a dog, a big one that Sam could ride?
"Dean" Sam asked, "is Mommy an angel?"
"I don't know Sam" he admitted, "Mom used to say that angels were watching over us when she would put us to bed at night."
"So then is Mommy watching us now?" Sam asked, looking at him with those stupid puppy dog eyes.
"I don't know Sammy" he said, "But I think if she could she would."
"And Dad watches us" Sam says, "When he's here. And you're here."
"Yeah Sam" Dean said confused, wondering where he was going with this.
"But Mommy's gone. And Dad's gone a lot. Are you going to leave me too?"
Dean was pretty sure his heart just broke. He shouldn't have to deal with this, he was only eight for God's sake. For a minute, he was really mad at his father.
"Don't worry Sammy" Dean said, "I'm never going to leave you. You and me, we're a team. I'll always take care of you, I promise."
Dean expected Sam to say thank you, or something cute. Instead he twisted his head and said, "Dean I'm hungry."
"Of course you are" Dean groaned, "Come on, let's see what's left to eat."
Dean got up first, careful to not step on his snow angel. He then extracted Sam from his and helped him back inside. As he was opening the door, Sam threw his arms around his waist.
"Thanks Dean, this was the best day ever."
"Yeah, I guess it was" Dean said, returning the hug.
A couple hours later, John Winchester came back from his hunt. He was bruised, defeated, and had half a mind to toss the kids inside the truck and leave right now. As he came up to the door, something caught his eye. He turned and saw two snow angels tucked off into the corner. They were obviously made by his boys, Dean on the left, Sam on the right. The bigger angel was slightly above the smaller one, protecting him. And the wings were stretched out so they were just touching each other. John walked in the motel and saw both boys asleep on the couch, TV on, with a blanket over them. Sammy always looked innocent, a cherub with curly hair, but he was struck by how small Dean looked. For a minute John was reminded that he was still a child, only eight years old.
He knew he asked too much of him, but he was doing the best he could do. In the back of his mind he knew he should jump on his new lead and head out right now. But instead, he pulled the blanket over the boys and let them sleep. They could wait one more day.