Down By The Bay
"Down by the baaaaaay,
where the watermelons groooooow,
back to my hoooooome,
I dare not goooooo.
For if I doooooo,
my mother will saaaaaay..."
Nine-year-old Dean's eyebrows knitted as he heard the six-year-old voice of his brother. He listened from the bathroom while brushing his teeth to Sam's happy singing as it cut clearly through the morning quiet. The song was easily recognizable, but there was something particularly connotative about it, some memory that had to do with the specific melody, those words. He just couldn't quite place it.
Then it came.
Dean had sung that song to his brother, when Sam was just a baby.
He placed his toothbrush into his bag, and proceeded to exit the restroom, coming upon his still singing brother, whose focus was currently taken up by the yellow paper he was doodling on with the blue nub of a crayon. I've got to get him some new ones, Dean thought as he saw just how small the crayon-stub was. Sammy was still seemingly unaware of Dean's quiet presence or intrigued gaze. As the sandy-haired Winchester felt a smile begin to spread across his face, he slowly approached the singing, drawing, young bundle of glee that was his brother for the moment. Dean stopped and sat down less than three feet behind his still oblivious sibling, watching him with obvious pleasure at the innocent scene.
The last few weeks had been pretty hard on Sammy. With Dad being gone for days as a time, the younger brother's fear that his father might not return had revealed itself in more extreme ways. Nightmares came almost nightly now, and he had become more prone to sit and do nothing. He didn't laugh at cartoons anymore, didn't giggle when Dean tickled him, didn't seem to be happy like a kid should be. This singing and coloring was a nice reprieve.
Not wanting to break into his brother's reverie, but feeling slightly uncomfortable at not making himself known, Dean settled for interrupting with a simple question.
"Whatcha drawing Sammy?"
Thinking back later, Dean wasn't sure what response he had expected. A plain answer? Surprise on Sammy's face? Embarrassment even? Or maybe an attempt to hide whatever was being drawn. Whatever response he might have imagined, nothing could have prepared him for what happened next.
Sam jumped. Practically spazzed. His entire body jerked with shock, and his head twisted around fast enough to cause whiplash. His eyes were the size of saucers, and his dialated pupils screamed panic and fear. He scrambled to his feet before Dean could be surprised and grabbed his drawing, no longer singing, but whimpering as if afraid of some unnoticed horror that had just sneaked upon him in the dead of night.
Dean's own eyes widened and he watched in utter shock with the beginnings of protective instinct as his clearly panicking brother sprinted to the motel room's tiny excuse for a closet and shut himself inside.
"Sammy what's wrong?!" Dean's demeanor had switched from passive observer to practiced protector, and he immediately grabbed the sawed-off shotgun on the desk next to him, sweeping the empty motel room with vigilant eyes before racing to the door of the closet where his brother could still be heard nearly crying.
"Sam!" Dean pulled sharply on the knob, then realized his brother was holding the door securely closed from the inside. "Sammy, c'mon, open the door. Sam?" Dean didn't want to break the door open, but something was very wrong with his brother, and he was not gonna let some stupid door get in the way of his comforting or protecting Sammy from...whatever it was. The sandy-haired boy was about to pull the knob off when he heard Sam yell something, and it stopped him cold.
"Somebody help me!" came the voice of the terrified child from inside the closet.
Dean stopped pulling on the door, something akin to horror written across his features. He backed up a step, letting himself slide down against the wall facing the closet as realization hit him like truck, pierced him like a bullet. Sammy had never called for somebody to help him before. Whether to fend off dreams, fight off nightmares, to beat real-life danger, or simply for homework Sam had always....always, always, always called for Dean. He didn't even ask Dad for anything; if it was something only Dad could offer, then Sam asked Dean to play ambassador and ask in his place. Sam relied on Dean for everything, and Dean always provided, protected, cared, came through.
Sammy wasn't in danger from something supernatural right now.
Sam wasn't afraid of some stranger or creature.
Right now, Sam was scared of Dean.
Dean struggled to keep his breathing even as the tears came unbidden.
"Sammy?" Dean barely whispered, his throat suddenly seemed constricted, and his voice sounded hoarse. He could hear the soft sound of Sam crying.
"Sammy what did I do?" He swallowed, trying to control the sob that threatened to escape from his mouth."Sam I-I...it's me, Dean. I'm...I'm not gonna hurt you." It was incredibly painful that he had to explain this to his little brother. Not having Sammy's immediate trust was totally foreign to the older sibling, and the fact that Sam had locked himself in a closet to escape his brother was ripping Dean apart inside.
"Why are you afraid of me?" he implored his younger brother, begging the door with his eyes to open. He waited for what seemed an eternity for Sam to reply, and when he finally did, the meek, tearful voice was clearly full of dread.
"You're going to kill me."
Dean's mouth gaped open, and he had to consciously force himself to breathe.
"Sam how can you....why would you ever...never Sam!"Dean was on his hands and knees now, coming closer to the door until he was leaning against it, as close to his brother as he could get, the tears flowing freely. "Sammy, I'm your big brother. I'll always protect you and keep you safe. I'd never hurt you. Sam, I swear I'm not going to k-" he couldn't even bring himself to say it. He carefullyly reached up to the door knob and twisted slowly. He kept talking as he cautiously pulled the door open an inch.
"I swear never to hurt you Sammy. Never." He pulled the door open just the slightest bit more. He could see Sam curled up, head on the tops of his knees, arms wrapped around himself.
"Sam you know I'll always keep you safe, right? You know I'll never let anyone do anything to you?"
Sam's head lifted just the smallest fraction and one watery eye met Dean's own wet gaze.
"Promise, Dean?"
"Of course."
"I don't want you to kill me."
"Sam don't say that - I'd never-"
"No matter how many times I ask."
That one stopped Dean cold again. His eyes widened and he softly pushed the door open all the way, sliding into the closet beside his brother.
"Sam why on earth would you ask me to do a thing like that?"
"I dreamed...don't kill me, Dean! Please!" Sam suddenly reached over and wrapped his arms around his now thoroughly frightened sibling, and as he sat and cried, Dean hugged him back, crying his own tears, never fully understanding why his brother would ever consider such thoughts. Why would Sam think I would kill him? Why would Sam ask me to kill him?
Sitting there, with his brother back in his arms, Dean decided that Sam had just taken one of his nightmares too seriously. He decided not to tell his Dad about Sam's episode. Heck, he never even reminded Sam about that particular day.
He never even thought to look at the picture that Sam had been drawing, the picture done in blue crayon, on yellow paper.
A picture of a pair of eyes.
Yellow eyes.