A/N: I decided to write this after I saw a post on the book of faces. Otherwise known as Facebook. I got all emotional just reading what the post said so I decided to try to bring it to life. So without further ado... Here's Home.
My name is Dean Winchester. I'm a hunter. Not the type of hunter that kills animals, although we have hunted werewolves. I hunt demons and other supernatural beings with my little brother, Sam. Or Sammy, I sometimes call him. He hates it, but I've been calling him that ever since he was a baby. And I guess that's what this story is about. Sam. But, then, doesn't it always end up with Sam?
See, when I was just three years old, my mom told me I was going to be a big brother. I wasn't exactly what you'd call happy about it, but I was the only child for three years and now some other person was going to come take away my place. Anyone would be jealous. But, my resentment changed when I first saw my brother in the hospital room laying in my moms arms. I was four then and it finally struck me... I'm a big brother. I asked my dad if I could hold him and he smiled and had me sit in a big chair and placed my little brother in my arms. Of course my dad had a hold of him as well, I was just a kid. But I didn't care. I just looked down at my little brother and felt this need to keep him safe. My dad told me his name was Samuel, after my moms dad who died when she was a teenager. I'm named after her mom, Deanna. My dad said I could call Samuel Sam for short, but I didn't like it. He didn't really look like a Sam. He definitely didn't look like a Samuel either. So I shook my head and whispered the name that was the perfect name for a big brother to call his little brother. "Sammy." My parents seemed to like that name because after that, when we went home, that's what they started calling him. Although, Sam still stuck as well.
Going back to our house in Lawrence Kansas, I quickly picked up a routine with my parents. My mom would feed Sam, burp him, get him changed and ready for bed, and then she'd lay him in his crib. My dad would then hold me in his arms and we would all say goodnight. I was always the last one to say goodnight to Sammy, it was nice to think that my voice was the last thing he heard and my face was the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes to the rest of the world. We did the same routine on the night Sam turned six months old.
The night that changed our lives forever.
