This is part of the We Were Men series I'm writing. It's based off the Theory of a Deadman song We Were Men. This series is written for those who suffer from domestic violence, PTSD, depression, and many other disorders. This is dedicated to everyone who knows what it's like to be miserable, to know hate, to live in the dark. Not all wounds are visible. We may be victims but more importantly we are survivors. We are men, women, and children.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I'm simply highlighting ideas already there.
We were kids once. It was a long long time ago, but we were kids like everybody else. Then mom died and the hunt began. Suddenly we were soldiers. Drafted into a war we wanted nothing to do with.
"Damn it, Dean!" John Winchester grabbed him by his arm just hard enough that it hurt and he had to swallow a whimper. "I told you, you can't take your eye off your brother. He's too little to be left alone. He could have gotten hurt. What if something grabbed him?" He shook Dean's little body as if trying to shake sense into him.
"Sorry sir. I was just sitting down. I didn't mean to fall asleep."
John sighed before letting him go and slapping a hand on his small shoulder a little too hard making Dean stumble back. John didn't seem to notice as he grabbed a bottle and took a large gulp. After emptying the bottle he grabbed little Sammy and scooped him into his lap.
Dean watched from the doorway as John cooed at the toddler.
"Come on Sam! You have to get this right!" John grabbed the gun from his hand and showed him again how to dismantle and put it back together.
"I don't wanna do this anymore," The smallest Winchester whined. "Can't we go-"
"No Sam. We're not moving until you get it right. I'm trying to protect you here."
Dean finally pushed through the door of the cabin and called out, "Hey guys! Dinner is here."
Sam pushed the gun back into John's hand and took off straight for his older brother. Dean braced himself and caught the boy in a large hug.
Behind them John quickly dismantled the gun and pieced it back together before loading it and firing several shots.
Dean noticed the way Sam flinched at the noise but didn't say anything. He'd get used to it.
"Dean," Sam whispered in the dark, "Are you aleep."
"Yes, and you should be too," Dean groaned rolling over in his bed.
"Dean I can't sleep," Sam pulled at his brother's sheets trying to wake him up.
The older Winchester groaned and grabbed the boy hauling him into the bed with him and throwing the blanket around him. "Now go to sleep. We have school tomorrow."
Sam wriggled to get comfortable on the creaky old springs. Dean threw an arm around him to stop him from moving then began to doze off again.
Sam couldn't sleep though. He just laid there staring out at the walls in the dark. A cheap ceiling fan barely managed to keep circling and it probably wasn't actually moving any air. In the silence the small fan motor seemed deafening. Sam laid there trying to ignore the walls that seemed to be closing in on him.
Turing from the walls Sam buried his head in Dean's chest and after another hour he finally managed to relax enough to sleep.
"Good job Dean," John praised him. Shotgun shells filled with rock salt would be a big help when it came to ghosts and demons.
"Thanks sir," Dean grinned.
"Well don't just stand there. We have a hunt to start."
"Sir yes sir."
"Hey dad. I don't even know if you're getting these messages…" Dean shifted to look at Sam who stood next to the Impala. "Me and Sammy are looking for you. I don't even know if you're alive or… What you're hunting. You should let us help. We need to stick together. Sam had a girlfriend. The demon that got mom… yeah it got her too. You should have seen she was… Anyway we're headed back out on the road. Sam won't give up looking for you. You know how stubborn he is." He chuckled awkwardly before leaning on the brick wall and sighing. "Bye."
The next chapter will be about Dean and Sam again. After that it's Angel time.