Title: The Strange Color of his Eyes

Rating: T

Warning: This story is AU. I've decided to make the boys grow up in the environment of the Roadhouse because... well, because. Anyway, their childhood is pretty much the same as in the show, with the only exception they have somewhere stable to stay in-between hunting trips and they've already met the characters in the Roadhouse. Might have some spoilers if you haven't seen 2x02, but nothing particularly revealing.

Disclaimer: Sadly, the Winchester boys are not mine, neither is his dad. If they were, I wouldn't be here writing fanfics.

Mom was terrified one day I would grow up, Dean would hit on me and break my heart. John was afraid his son would someday in the future screw me, then leave me and break the ties between our families. Dean himself was scared one morning he would come back from a hunting trip and realize he could not look at me as a child anymore. That would make John terribly disappointed. Thirteen-year-old me thought pretty much the same, but still daydreamed about it.

Sammy, because he was just Sammy for me then, had taught me how to use a computer, helped me with my homework a hundred times and taken me to some concerts that made him become Dean's laughing stock for a month. He was, yeah, Sammy, kind of an older cousin who spoils you because you're his little girl. I know it sounds childish, it still does for me now, but, anyway, it's the truth. I had never, never ever, really looked at him till that day he picked me up from school.

The giggles from the oh-so-perfect girls in my class could be heard miles around. Don't get me wrong: I was not part of that group. I was this weird girl with not many friends and not really pretty, blond, nor busty enough to be even noticed by the elite. So I rolled my eyes at yet another oh-he's-sooo-hot group squeal, not even wondering who they were talking about. One step more and I saw Sammy in the gates, waving his hand at me. I smiled back and tried to go meet him, not before being almost literally tackled by a cheerleader who apparently could have done better as a quarterback. I was suddenly surrounded.

"Hey, Jo! 'Cos it's Jo, right?"

(Cool girls know my name? Cool girls are know talking to Weirdo Harvelle?)

"Uh-huh."

(They are smiling. At me. Apocalypse must be on its way.)

"We were wondering about that guy waiting for you today."

(Hysterical laugh. This is gonna be a horrible conversation.)

"Wondering, huh?"

"Yeah... Is he your brother?"

"Nah."

"So he is..."

"Ok, look, you Kelly, Brenda or whoever. If you're gonna mock me because I'm being picked up at school and I'm such a baby for that, you'd better do it fast. I'm kind of hungry."

They all looked at each other rather puzzled. Then, it finally hit me: it was not about me. God, they had the hots for Sam. Now, that was funny. He was my Sammy, after all. When I managed to escape from those Barbie-wannabes, he told me about Dean, his father and my mom going to a hunter's funeral in Nebraska. He kept talking, even apologized because he thought I was mad at him for waiting for me at the gates as if I were a little girl. I was silent during most of the walk home. At lunchtime, he kept rambling about some program Ash had designed to track demon activity. He was all excited about the thing. I nodded every now and then, not really listening, but looking at him, suddenly discovering the strange color of his eyes: depending on the light they were goldenish, green or almost blue. So my eyes moved to his lips and then to his hands, and for some reason I could almost know how they would feel on my skin. That was it, as simple as it sounds: one morning he was my Sammy, and by lunchtime he had become Mr. Oh-my-god-how-could-I-never-notice-how-gorgeous-he-is. Childish, as I said before, but true.

I guess it was easy to miss Sam when you had Dean, who was sorta my own Brad Pitt, at home. Seriously, there were moments I could just have stuck a big poster of him in the wall of my room. C'mon, I was going through adolescence and he was older, handsome and dangerous, and a blondish version of John. Because, man, if I had ever, ever in my life, had an enormous, immense crush on someone, if I had ever felt complete and utter adoration for someone, that was John Winchester.

When Dad was still alive, Mom and him used to take turns to work in the bar. The one who was not on duty would spend time with me in the house. You know, it's not good for a hunter to expose his weaknesses to anyone who could just walk by and, of course, the roadhouse is not exactly the best place for a baby girl to be. So when Dad died and I started helping Mom with business (even if my help only included a bit of cleaning and making some sandwiches in the kitchen), I didn't know any hunter. Except for John. He was a personal friend of my family, so I was used to see him having a beer with Dad in my house way before I started stealing curious glances at the rest of the hunters from the doorway of the kitchen.

I had always been an extremely shy kid, to the point Mom was worried about it. But, for some reason, timidity was left behind every time John Winchester smiled to me. When I was five, I asked him to wait for me to grow up 'cos I wanted to marry him. And, apparently, the first time we met, one year before that, he said 'hello' and my answer was something along the lines of 'you are SO handsome!'

I have this memory of a day I was sitting in Dad's lap, and he was teasing me about the issue. I told him, very matter-of-factly, that I should marry John Winchester because every time he kissed me and his stubble brushed my cheek, there were butterflies in my stomach and I felt all warm in the inside and Mom had told me that happened when you were in love. I can never recall my Dad laughing as hard as he did that day. He didn't live much time afterwards.

I shook my head, trying to stop the sad memories.

"You sure you're ok, Jo?", Sam asked, worried look in his eyes.

"Yeah, I was just concentrating on enjoying your delicious cooking", I stuck out my tongue.

He laughed hard. And suddenly I noticed his dimples, which were just like John's, but still had something genuinely Sam's. And it came to me that maybe I didn't want a younger, blondish version of John. Maybe I wanted something different, but that still made me feel butterflies in my stomach and warmth in the inside.

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