Title: You'd Be Scared Of Them Too
Author: Piratelf
FFNet Rating: K
Rating: G
Fandom: Supernatural
Type: Gen FPS Wee!Winchesters
Disclaimer: Eric Kripke created Sam, Dean and John Winchester and The CW owns them. NO money will be made from this work.
Author's Notes: ' ' thoughts
words in italics on television
more notes at the end.
Sammy squirmed uncomfortably. The straps of his safety seat were just this short of cutting into him. He shouldn't even be in a baby seat any more, he was big! Three years old, he could count it off on his fingers. Three years and nine days. He could count that too. Tomorrow it would be three years and ten days, and then he would run out of fingers. Dean said then he'd have to use his toes. He looked down at his shoes. He could get them off if he wanted to, but Dad didn't like that. He remembered his birthday because they were at a motel, and he got a Ho Ho out of the candy machine. He wished they had stayed at the motel. When they had a room, he and Dean could stay there and watch TV while Dad hunted. Hunts were boring.
He sighed and unzipped his coat. He felt too bundled up, confined. But he'd wriggled out of his coat once, and got really cold and he couldn't reach it to get it back on. So he didn't wriggle out this time. He looked out the window. It was just all black. He looked really hard, 'til his eyes hurt, but he couldn't see Dad or even Dean. Every other time they went on a hunt, he could at least see Dean. Dad would draw a salt circle, too far away to talk through the window, but close enough to see, and Dean would stand in the circle with his big gun, in case anything came close. Dean was really good with a gun, he could shoot anything. Sammy had a gun too, but it only shot water. That was kind of okay though, because big guns were heavy and they made a loud noise that hurt your ears. Dad and Dean said that the water in his gun was holy water, which was special. But it tasted just like regular water. Sammy liked to squirt it in his mouth. It felt funny.
Sammy strained forward as far as he could. He liked to look at all the knobs and dials in the front seat, where Dad sat. If he could get up there, he could drive the car. He could barely see them though, in the dark. He pulled at his straps, but they wouldn't come off. Even Dean couldn't do it by himself. There was a button, and Dean would squeeze it really hard with both hands, then Sammy could pull the straps off. Dad could do it by himself. Dad was really strong.
Sammy stared out of all of the windows, but he still couldn't see anyone. He started to wonder if Dean and Dad had forgotten him. What if they never came back? What if the hunt was already over and they were at a motel watching TV?
Sammy started to cry. They did! They forgot him! And he was out in the woods, away from the streets and the houses and everything and nobody would ever find him! If he could get out of his seat he could go run and find them. But if the hunt wasn't over yet, and Dad found him out of the seat, he'd be in trouble. If he found him out of the car, he'd be in BIG BIG trouble. He didn't know what to do. If he could get to the front seat, there was a button to turn on the lights and then Dean could see them and remember that they left Sammy in the car and come get him. Or if he could just roll down the windows he could yell out and Dean might hear him. But his seat wasn't near the windows, because he could brush the salt off, accidentally. The salt didn't stick very well there, and you had to be careful, especially during a hunt, and not touch the salt. Touching the salt was bad.
He wished Dad hadn't made Dean go so far away. He said he needed him to help hunt the monster. Because Dean could read. Sammy was too little to read. He was always too little to help. Dad said he could help by being good and staying in the car. But Sammy knew that wasn't really helping. He wasn't a moron. Even if Dean said he was. He was getting really scared now. He wiped his face with his coat sleeve, but it was cold on his face. His ankles were cold too, where his pants didn't come down to his shoes. He wondered how cold he would get if Dad and Dean didn't ever come back for him. He wished he could just go to sleep and wake up and the hunt would be over, and Dad and Dean would be back.
He closed his eyes and pretended he was in bed at a motel.
And the sheets smell like bleach, and Dean is right next to him and warming him all up. And they had left the TV on. And it was Saturday morning, and Sammy can hear the Smurf song starting.
"La LA lala la la,"
So he starts singing too, "sing a happy song, la LA lala la la, Smurf the whole day long."
'Cause Dean HATES the Smurf song.
Sammy whistles the next part, and he sounds just like the Smurfs! Dean rolls over and groans, "Shut UP, Sammy!"
Then Dad is there, and he sings the Papa Smurf part, "Smurf along with me."
Sammy whistles the next part. Then Dad sings, "Simple as can be!"
"Next time you're feeling blue," Dad and Sammy continue singing together. "just let a smile begin."
Dean grabs Sammy's pillow and puts it over his head. "AURGH!" He pounds his fist on the headboard.
"Happy things will come to you-" Dean pounds so hard it rocks the bed and -
Sammy opened his eyes.
There, pressed against the window, not two feet from him, was a ghastly white face, with black eyes. The mouth was a bright scarlet blotch of lips and blood, and it wanted in.
Sammy screamed.
There was a loud noise and a red explosion all around the thing's head. The window shattered and Sammy, still screaming, somehow remembered to raise his gun and he pulled the trigger again and again and again.
He heard the car door open behind him, turned and squirted John full in the face.
"Sammy, shh, it's okay, it's Daddy, son. Shhhh, it's okay now." John wiped the water out of his eyes, reached in and took the water gun. " Good boy, Sammy. Just like Daddy taught you. Good job." He pocketed the gun, released the safety straps and pulled Sammy out of the seat. He didn't see any cuts or scratches. He glanced once at the window, 'Thank God for safety glass.' He hugged his baby close. "Shhh, it's okay. Who's Daddy's little soldier, huh? Huh?" John kissed the top of Sammy's head and patted his back. "Dean!" He called his other son.
Sammy had buried his head in John's shoulder and was squeezing his neck so tight he was almost strangling him. "Sammy, settle down, it's all right now. Daddy's got ya."
Dean, who had taken off at a dead run as soon as he heard Sammy scream, came through the trees. "Did it get Sammy?"
"Is your safety on?!" John demanded.
"Yes, sir," Dean answered, without missing a step.
John nodded once at Dean then knelt down with Sammy. "Hey kiddo, you stay here with your brother while I get rid of the monster then it'll be all over, okay?"
"NO DADDY!" Sammy was hysterical.
"Hush, Sammy, Dean'll take care of you. And Daddy'll be right back." He turned to Dean while he tried to pull Sammy's arms from around his neck. "Put your rifle on the floor and take him."
"Is he okay?" Dean asked, doing as he was told.
"He's fine, just scared is all. Come on, Sammy, let go."
Dean scooted into the car and grabbed Sammy's sippy cup off the seat. He looked up and saw the gore all over the shattered window. He looked away quick. "Hey Sammy! Look! Apple juice!"
Sammy turned his head to Dean.
"Want some? Come sit on my lap." Dean held his arms out to his brother.
Sammy tentatively put one arm out. John deposited him on Dean's lap, and stepped back quickly, almost smacking his head on the doorframe.
Sammy put the sippy cup to his lips and sucked like he was dying of thirst.
"That's what ya need, a good stiff drink." John grabbed some paper napkins out of his coat pocket and cleaned Sammy's face with a few rough swipes. "Dean, I want you to just stay here with your brother. I'm gonna take it back to the clearing so I can salt and burn it. I should be back in about twenty minutes. You okay?"
"Yes, sir. I'm fine."
"Good boy."
By the time John got back to the car, both boys were asleep. It was 3 a.m. He drove to an automatic car wash, jimmied the money box, got eighty-five dollars and washed the car. Then he headed out of the state.
A few hours after the boys woke up, John pulled into a diner and fed them. When they got back in the car Sammy flat out refused to sit in his safety seat. John yelled at him. Dean pleaded with him. But Sammy wouldn't do it. Dean tried to bribe him into it. But Sammy couldn't be budged. John tried to force him into it. But Sammy kicked and screamed and wouldn't allow himself anywhere near it.
"All right, FINE!" John reached in, ripped the seat out and slammed it to the ground as hard as he could. It made a sort of metallic crunching sound and a few pieces went flying off. "Now get in the car!" He growled at Sammy through clenched teeth.
"Yes, sir," Sammy climbed in, cowed by John's show of violence.
Dean gave him mean looks and wouldn't talk to him all day.
Sammy never had a single nightmare about the experience of the night before, and they never spoke of it again.
Three weeks later, John had gotten some more money and moved himself and the boys into a small trailer. It wasn't exactly furnished, but there was a fold out couch and a TV, so Sammy was happy as a clam at high tide.
The next Saturday he got up early, flipped on the TV, and settled back onto the couch to watch cartoons. He wasn't sure what show he was watching yet, because it was on a commercial break.
"The day Earlie, the Early Bird, learned how to fly. Starring Ronald McDonald and Friends."
"Look, it's Birdie!"
Sammy screamed.
-The End-
AN: The first part of this story may sound a little disorganized because you're in the mind of a three year old. I switched tenses for the dream part on purpose. I speeded up the pace (Three weeks later) because what comes in-between isn't important to the plot except to show why Dean, who was only seven, never made the connection. What I feel is, in this little 'verse, Sammy then transferred all of his terror onto Ronald McDonald, then probably included other white-faced, red-mouthed clowns like Bozo (three years later, Dean's man Jack in Batman, sure doesn't help) then to clowns in general, and probably has even forgotten the original incident himself.
"You still bust out crying whenever you see Ronald McDonald on television." - Everybody Loves A Clown