That's Just Sam
By: Jamison Leigh
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, WB/CW or any recognizable characters/themes.
John
I might not have known a lot about my boys, but I knew a few important things. I specifically knew their tells. When they tried to lie, I was able to catch them in the act almost instantly. That was something I had to perfect with my eldest in years previously. I was able to see when my boy Dean was upset. And then, there was Sammy. When Sam was born, Mary and I knew he'd come with his own particular style. We also knew that it might not necessarily mesh well with ours. Dean came out screaming, red face and eyes screwed shut. Sam didn't make a screech, he just made whimpering noises and looked around with these wide eyes. Mary had loved those eyes.
Sam came with his own personality and his own agenda. But, I didn't usually have time to pay much attention to his own warning signs and cries for help. Dean was asleep, and it was just me and this baby. Sam was playing with his stuffed bear, and grunting every so often. I was busy learning all this new stuff about the supernatural, so I didn't have time to focus on Sammy. The thing about Sam was that he never cried loudly. He always cried softly.
The next thing I knew, the loudest wail imaginable came from my baby and I looked up for the first time. I rushed over to him, and picked him up. My eighteen-month old infant had been trying to toddle over to me for my attention because his ear was hurting. Sam had been battling a rough and nasty ear infection/cold for a week and he had just wanted some pain relief. But in trying to walk over with the infections making him dizzy, he had fallen down into the coffee table. Dean, with sleep-filled eyes and messy hair, was suddenly next to me and had his arms out for his baby brother. "Why didn't you tell me you'd hurt yourself, Sammy?" I crooned into his baby hair. Dean sighed and gently took Sam from me and mumbled, "That's just Sam."
Dean
Sammy was just a little squirt. He couldn't have been older than five. Now that I think about it. He must have been about three the first time I actually noticed it. He had a lisp. A tiny one, one that I could barely hear because I had spent almost every second with him since he was six months old. We were playing on the playground one day and a little boy mentions to me that my brother talked funny. I stared at him and almost wanted to hit him. My brother didn't talk funny. He talks normal, just like I did. I looked over at Sammy who was having a very energetic conversation with a little girl around his age.
Concerned with the news that I was told, I listened in on his conversation. Just a little…okay, just a lot. My eyes widened. He did talk funny. I had known that already, but I guess I didn't want to admit it. Because admitting something might be wrong with Sam felt like admitting that I was a failure as a son and a brother. I was supposed to know that something was wrong. But, I didn't. I thought that all kids his age had funny ways of talking.
That night, I was helping Sam brush his teeth and I looked at his teeth for a long time. I figured that something must not be right and that that was what was making him sound funny. But they were nice and straight baby teeth. Then, I checked his throat. Maybe that was the problem! Nope. He was fine. Finally, I wrote it off as a silly quirk and told myself, "That's just Sam."
Bobby
I had spent a lot of time with those boys as they grew up. Teaching them normal things, teaching them not so normal things. They were like my own boys, after a time. I knew things about them that only John should know. Things that a typical parent would know about their kid. For instance, ten-year old Dean hated all kinds of mayonnaise—didn't matter what brand, if it was Miracle Whip, if it was heavily slathered on there or just snuck in. And then the littlest Winchester. For a kid who had spent the majority of his life on the road, he was a picky eater.
No crust because he thought it was too dry. No Dr. Pepper because he said it tasted like cough syrup. No salad dressing other than Ranch because he said the others smelled funny. No off-brand Lucky Charms because he said that it 'just wasn't the same'. No pickles because they made his hands smell weird. No popsicles because they made the sides of his mouth all sticky.
And then there were the things that he would eat. Some of those things made me want to puke. Peanut butter and banana sandwiches; BTM—bacon, tomato and mustard; spaghetti with one specific kind of sauce and one type of noodles; and the ultimate treat: honey buns with cheese melted on them. That last one was rough.
One day, I was packing Sammy's lunch for school. Dean was sitting at the kitchen table watching me, his lunch already packed—a normal BLT, chips, Coke and a secret surprise of licorice. I made the peanut butter and banana sandwich with no crust, a Sammy-approved Coke, some potato chips, and the ultimate treat. Dean wrinkled his nose in disgust as I wrapped up what I like to call the stinky bun and put it in the brown paper bag. I smirked at him and shrugged. "That's just Sam."
Sam
All my life, I've heard the phrase. "That's just Sam." That's just me. That's just the way I am. It's always filled me with a sense of love and loyalty. They know who I am. They love me for who I am. I love them for loving me. For accepting me. For never letting me forget where I came from. Those three men—I owe them the world. My father, my brother and my uncle.
I lost my father in 2006. I lost my brother in 2008, and in 2010. I lost my uncle in 2011. I've lost and gained some great people in my life. But these three, losing these three was probably the lowest points in my life. Because, here's the secret. Are you ready for it?
Sam was just Sam because he loved those three men so much. Who would I have become had I not had the freedom to be myself? Had I not been the person I am, I wouldn't have what I do have. Which, isn't a hell of a lot but it's a lot better than the alternative. The Cage with Michael and Lucifer or walking around upstairs without a soul.
I made some bad choices, did some bad things. But, there were always three men to let me "Just be Sam." Thank you, Dad. Thank you Uncle Bobby. And most of all, thank you Dean.