Brotherhood
Prologue -
We are not only our brother's keeper; in countless large and small ways, we are our brother's maker. Bonaro Overstreet
In the beginning, there was fire and screams and finally tears and silence. And deep beneath those fragile yet nurturing layers of silence was born a most wonderful and fascinating alliance. An alliance of needs and wants and hopes and realities. This alliance came to be in baby steps, through half-warmed bottles, backward diapers, and coos and gurgles that made the older one giggle and roll his eyes when all he should have been expected to do was cry. Even when tiny and defenseless, the younger one was already helping to define their relationship for years to come. He who evoked laughter and smiles and he who sheltered the other from all the shadows of their world. And so it continued that young Dean and even younger Sammy began molding and shaping each other's futures.
Scene One -
Sometimes being a brother is even better than being a superhero. Marc Brown
Another day at school, another day in Hell. That was what things boiled down to for nine year old Dean as he reflected upon the past few hours. Having just stepped off the school bus, he and Sam were making way down the cracked sidewalk that led to their current 'home'. A white with slate blue trim, two bedroom/one bath fixer-upper that their Dad was purposely refusing to fix up. "Why bother," he'd said when Sam had asked if they were going to patch the fist-sized hole in the drywall of the kitchen. "It's not like we're going to be here for the long-haul anyway." Such was their lives.
They had been in Jones, Virginia for the past four weeks, and since Dad had found temporary work at the local garage, he saw school as a convenient, and free, daycare service. It just had the added bonus of being able to stuff more knowledge into Dean and Sam's brains in the process. And although the job was temporary, as were their residency, it also offered the occasional overtime hours when business was brisk.
As the boys came marching in from school, they were briefly surprised to see their Dad already home and cooking up hotdogs and macaroni and cheese. He was still in his work jumpsuit, complete with assorted stains and smudges, a sure indication that his appearance was just a temporary stop between shifts. He looked up from his meager attempt at cooking and nodded to the boys as they came in.
After having deposited his worn red and white backpack in his and Dean's bedroom, Sam came bursting back into the kitchen, his round little face graced with an ear to ear grin. "Guess what, Daddy!" he chirped as he stood looking up into his Dad resigned face. "Today's Halloween, and we's gots to go out chip or treating. All the kids said so, so we's gots to. Where are mine and Dean's costumes? I'm gonna be a Ninja Turtle, just like Jacob. He's in my class, Daddy, and he's..."
"Sammy, there's not going to be any costumes for you or Dean. And you know that you boys can't be going out at night, especially on Halloween. How many times have I told you not to listen to what those other kids are saying? You know they aren't like us..." Dad stated, in that no-nonsense tone the boys knew so well. He didn't seem to notice the look of pure devastation that took over his youngest son's previously happy expression. Nor did he notice the way Dean was trying to avoid looking at his father and brother as the exchange continued.
"But Daddy," Sam cried, "we have to go! It's what all kids do. Even the teacher said." And having schooled his boyish features in his best attempt at seriousness, he continued, "It's OK if I'm not a Ninja Turtle, but we's gots to do it. Dean and Me."
Sighing in both frustration at his youngest son's inability to understand the true nature of their nomadic and unorthodox existence and in regret at having to deny his sons yet another childhood rite of passage, Dad began, "Sammy, I said no, and ..."
Before he could even finish speaking, Sam looked down at the floor, then walked quietly across the kitchen to take a seat at the table in front of his battered Sesame Street plate. He refused to look at his Dad or Dean, and began biting his lower lip, a nervous habit he had recently acquired . "It's OK, Daddy," he softly murmured, "can we eat our doggies and 'roni and cheese now?" The quite declaration being Sam's way of trying to avoid a confrontation. He had learned in his short life that you just didn't argue with Dad. It never turned out anything but badly.
"Sure, Sammy," Dad replied, already beginning to dish out their food. "Dean, why don't you pour some juice for you and your brother?"
Dean glanced between his brother's slumped form and his Dad, before moving to the refrigerator. After making the drinks and placing one by Sammy's plate and one by his own, the older boy took a seat at the table and began to eat. Between mouthfuls, he asked, "Are you going back to work tonight, Dad?"
"Sure am. I've been lucky, lots of work coming in and just not enough regular hours to finish it all. I'll make enough extra to get us back on the road in a week or two," Dad acknowledged, as he quickly cleaned his own plate and moved to place it in the sink. "I've gotta go in a few minutes. Dean, I want you to look out for Sammy. Make sure he gets a bath and gets to bed on time. And no going out after I'm gone. I don't want that nosy Mrs. Mitchell next door making trouble about me leaving you guys alone when I'm working."
"No problem, Dad. Sam and I'll just watch some cartoons and stuff," Dean replied. Sneaking a quick look to his left, he saw that his brother had finished off about half of his dinner, and was now slowly pushing the remainder around in circles on his plate. The younger boy had not spoken during the meal, nor made eye contact with himself or Dad. 'Poor Sammy, just doesn't understand. I wish those dumb teachers would just teach the book stuff and shut up about things like Halloween and candy and costumes,' he thought to himself as he watched his brother.
After having seen Dad off, scraped their plates, and washed up the dishes, the boys moved to the living room to watch cartoons on their old black and white portable TV, which was currently resting atop an old, plastic crate. Sam sat curled into the corner of the faded, evergreen sofa, his head resting on the overstuffed arm and his face the picture of dejection. As Superman and Wonder Woman raced across the screen in their pursuit of justice, the youngest Winchester barely acknowledged their existence.
Feeling slightly depressed and highly irritated that his baby brother was once again being denied one of life's 'normal' activities and their Dad seemed totally oblivious to how upset Sam was, Dean spent the next few moments racking his brains for some way to make Sam smile again. Thinking back to Sam's earlier excitement at the idea of 'chip or treating' he had an idea. He went back into the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with an empty Folger's coffee can and an equally empty plastic butter dish. He also clutched a role of masking tape and some tinfoil in his arms. In the pocket of his faded jean, he had three rolls of SweetTarts, left over from the convenience store stop they had made weeks back on their way into town.
"Hey Sammy, wanna help me with something?" he called to his brother. "We've gotta hurry if we want to be able to go candy hunting. You know you have to have it all done before ten o'clock, or your doing it all wrong."
Looking up from his perch on the sofa, Sam turned a confused face to his older brother. "Candy hunting? Dad said 'No' Dean, and he meant it. You don't want a spanking do ya?" he asked, voice subdued, yet oddly firm for a five year old.
"Dad said 'No going out' Sammy, not that we couldn't candy hunt right here in the house. We won't be able to have any fancy costumes, like Jacob, but we can still do it. Look, I've got all the stuff we'll need to make our buckets. Then we'll take turns hiding the SweetTarts all over. Come on, Sammy! It'll be fun. I promise."
Looking a bit uncertain, but knowing that if Dean made a promise, it was always good, Sam bounced off the sofa and sat on the floor next to his brother. Taking the pieces of foil and tape offered to him, he couldn't keep a smile from once again appearing. "OK, I guess if you say so. Can I have the butter dish? I can color with my markers on that one. I can make me some Ninja Turtles even. I bet Jacob doesn't have his own Turtle Bucket, does he?" Sammy joked as he went to work.
"No, I bet he don't," Dean replied, quite satisfied with his plan's success. 'And I bet he doesn't have his very own Sammy, either. Who needs a fancy costume when you've got a little brother anyway?'