Chapter 1 : First Meetings
Dean's POV:
The first time I met my little brother, Sam, was when I was 4; he had just been born.
My mom was so excited over this little bundle of person and I, personally, didn't see it. I mean, what was so great about this kid? What made him more special than me?
He ended up getting all the attention, and truthfully? I hated it.
"Not now, Dean, we need to feed Sam."
"I can't, Dean, Sam needs me to change his diaper."
"Dean, no. I'm busy with Sam."
Sam, Sam, SAM. It was all about Sam.
This little twerp had wiped me off the map.
One day, my dad was at the store and my mom was tired, so she asked me to watch the infant while she napped on the couch.
"Now, Dean, I need you to watch him but stay right here next to me and wake me if you need anything. Alright?"
"Okay." I replied.
I held Sam in my arms while my mom slept.
When I heard her soft snoring, I looked at down at the small thing that had made me disappear.
It's... he's actually kinda... cute. I thought.
I began to bounce my arms, rocking Sam in them. Sam reached up his small, chubby arms and began to reach for my face. I leaned forward, letting his soft fingers stroke my face.
He smiled, toothless and wide.
"Hi, Sam." I whispered.
He giggled.
"Looks like Sam likes you." My mom said, smiling that her two sons were getting along. She was propped up on her elbow, obviously awake now, and watching my brother and I's interactions.
"Yeah, looks like it." I replied.
Mom looked at the clock. "You wanna put him in bed?"
"Sure." I spoke to her. "Come on, Sammy." I said, standing with the smaller boy enveloped in my arms as I looked down at him.
"Sammy?" My mom asked, wondering about my nickname for the smaller boy.
I looked at her, then I looked at my brother.
"Yeah, Sammy."
Sam's POV:
I don't remember the first time I actually met my brother, given that I would've have been too young to remember.
The first time I remember meeting him I was probably 5. I distinctly remember knowing who he was but I have no earlier memories besides this one.
We were in a motel room in some state. I remember that it was just us two, my dad was out 'hunting' and my mom... well... I knew that she was gone.
Dean and I sat on the couch watching a T.V. show and eating... something.
The part that makes it so memorable and distinctive is the nightmare I'd had that night and the conversation that followed it.
I was laying in the same bed as my brother, given our tight living spaces.
I'm laying down on something soft. A couch? A bed maybe? I don't know.
Someone's coming up to me. A man. He looks at me.
Yellow eyes.
Who is he? What does he want? What is he?
Then I hear screaming. It's a female
Suddenly the man, the yellow-eyed man, looks at her and I can see her figure being dragged up a wall. I can't see her – just the outline of her figure.
Now she's on the ceiling, screaming. The man is laughing.
Then there's fire. Burning, red orange and yellow fire.
Then he's gone.
More screaming – from another man this time. But... not the yellow-eyed man.
I don't know what he's yelling.
Then someone's picking me up. I can't see his face either, but he's the one screaming.
He hands me off to someone shorter than him. The person holding me is small, much smaller than the man who handed me off to him.
Then I hear a voice again. "You'll be okay. It's all gonna be okay, Sammy."
Only one person calls me Sammy.
I remember the nightmare so well because I still have it every once in a while...
I woke up and I was panting and sweating.
My brother was next to me. "Sammy? Sammy, what's wrong?"
"I – I had a dream."
"A dream?"
"A bad dream..." I admitted.
"What was it about?"
I explained everything.
Yellow eyes, bright fire, lots of screaming.
Dean looked a little pale.
"Go back to sleep, Sammy, it was just a nightmare." Dean said, laying down and opening his arms, welcoming me to his embrace.
I crawled in, choosing to ignore my brother's odd behavior.
"It was just a dream, Sammy." He'd whispered. "Just a bad dream."
We lay there a while longer, and just before sleep overtook me and my brother, I asked a question. A question I'd wanted to ask for so long that I'd never before had the audacity or courage to ask.
"Dean?" I'd began, "Where's dad?"
"Hunting." He replied coldly.
"Hunting what?"
"Uh, bad things."
"Like what?"
"Like, things that hurt people."
"Like what?"
"Like monsters."
"Is dad Superman?!"
"Yeah, Sammy. Dad's Superman."
"Why is he working at night? And why doesn't he come home?"
"Because... Because he, uh... Because the monsters are being evil right now so dad needs to fight them." I could tell Dean was struggling to answer, but with me at such a tender and naive age, I had no suspicions.
"When's he gonna come home, Dean?"
"When the monster is stopped."
"Then why does he come home and then leave again and then come home and leave and-"
I was cut off. "Because he comes home when one monster is stopped and leaves when a new one starts causing trouble!" Dean practically yelled, frustrated.
"Then why do we keep moving homes?"
"Because dad needs to follow the monsters."
"Why?"
"Because he's Superman." Dean replied.
I believed it too. I believed my dad was Superman.
"Night, Dean." I said, cuddling into my brother.
"Night, Sammy." He replied and he pulled me closer and held me tight.
And I fell asleep, smiling happily.
