"Can I drive?" Dean asked, eyeing the steering wheel enviously. Behind him, his little brother laughed at the futile attempt.
"Dean Michael Winchester, for the last time!" Finally at the end of his rope, Chuck snapped at his young passenger.
Dean sat back with his hands raised in mock surrender, a mischievous grin splayed across his face. "What? I thought I'd ask!"
"This is a county car. You are an unlicensed minor. Your boredom is not worth my job or your safety!"
Dean leaned to the back and in a clearly audible conspiratory whisper, he informed Sammy, "See, he puts his job before our safety just like I told you. Pay attention to the way he prioritizes next time, and you, too, could catch him in the act!"
Sammy giggled happily, and Dean reflexively chuckled at the sight, although he and Chuck were both pretty sure that Sammy's reaction was more to do with exhaustion after being stuck in the car for what had felt like forever.
"Can we at least listen to my music?" Dean begged.
Chuck sighed and conceded. "Whatever you want, Dean," he agreed. If there was anything legal that would calm the teenager down, he was willing to do it at this point.
Sam giggled again. "I thought shotgun shut his cake hole, Dean!"
Dean shrugged, victorious, and began surfing the radio. "I guess this shotgun just packs a little more heat, Sammy."
"We're almost at your uncle's," Chuck said. (Honestly, when Dean was honest with himself, the man had to be some kind of super human, having endured many things that would try the patience of a saint!) "It's not for too long. Now, look, the Sheriff is going to be there to make sure everything goes smoothly. I'm not anticipating any issues since you are pretty good kids from what I've seen of you."
"Wow, I pity you," Dean commented. "You must have a godawful frame of reference!"
"I have a few kids of my own," Chuck admitted.
Dean laughed as he cut off, but he found a station playing Lynyrd Skynyrd, and soon the chorus of "Simple Man," complete with off key audience participation (namely, Dean), filled the car.
The hand off went smoothly, Chuck promised to be back in a week after they had gotten a chance to settle in just a bit, and to bring their shrink with him when he came back.
Dean and Sam had nodded and agreed and smiled at all the right times and then raced to their rooms as soon as the door had shut.
Downstairs, the Sheriff was getting ready to head out. "You've got two good kids there, Bobby. I knew they wouldn't be any trouble."
"Well, we will have to see about that," Bobby smirked. "If I know my nephews, they'll wait until everything settles down and then do one crazy outrageous, and totally defensible act. Then they'll be done."
Sheriff Jody Mills shrugged. "Have a good night, Mr. Singer."
"Mr. Singer? What is this, Bismarck?" Bobby scoffed.
"Night, Bobby," she amended with a small smile, heading down the street.
"Night, Jody," he returned good-naturedly, closing the door behind her.
Then began the interesting part. Fatherhood was never something that he would have thought to be possible, but with John in prison, he couldn't just let the two boys go to some stranger, or worse, be left on the streets.
Besides, all he had to do was screw up less than John, and he had no intention of even coming close to that man's level of destruction. Maybe he could pull this off after all, he thought, moments before two scrawny arms were flung around his waist.
"Sam?"
"Thank you, Uncle Bobby," the kid said, gratitude practically seeping out of every pore.
"For what?" Bobby was genuinely confused.
"For our rooms!" Sam explained happily.
Bobby snorted and ruffled the kid's hair. If providing basic human needs was all it took to make them happy, he could definitely pull this off.
"So what do you want to do, Dean?" Bobby asked, giving the boys a chance to rest after their long drive.
Dean shrugged. "Sammy?"
"I'm a little hungry," Sam admitted, looking apologetically at Bobby.
"Hungry? Do you want to go out or stay in?" Bobby asked.
Sam shrugged and tossed it back to Dean. "What do you think, Sammy? You want dinner or are you just hungry for a sandwich?"
Sam hesitated for a second. "I think I just want a sandwich," he answered quietly.
Bobby looked at him carefully, eyes slightly narrowed. "You sure about that, boy?"
Sam nodded slowly. "Dean?"
Dean ruffled his hair affectionately. "I'll make you your sandwich, Sammy," he promised. A smile lit up Sam's face momentarily.
"Thanks, Dee," he whispered.
"Of course, baby boy," Dean answered just as quietly.
He made his way to the kitchen, Bobby hovering in the doorway. "Do you need anything else before I go help Dean, Sam?"
Sam nodded frantically. "Uncle Bobby, can you show me where things are?"
Bobby nodded slowly. "What things are you looking for, Sam?"
"I'm not looking for anything, I just don't know if there might be something that I want to look for later, and I want to know where it is," he explained carefully.
Bobby nodded. "I can give you the grand tour," he agreed. "You going to be alright in there, Dean?" he asked. "I'm giving Sam a tour of the house."
Dean hesitated, his hand freezing on the package of bread he had just reached for. Then he grounded himself and remembered that this was South Dakota, this was Bobby's house, and Sam would be safe. "Yeah," he answered after a second. "What kind of sandwich do you want, Bobby?"
"I'll have whatever Sam's having," Bobby decided. Dean laughed.
"No, you won't," he promised Bobby. "Trust me on that."
Bobby frowned and looked at Sam, confused. "What are you eating, son?" he asked.
Sam giggled, a delighted sound echoing through the empty house and bringing a satisfied smile to Dean and Bobby. "Oh, you'll see," Dean promised.
"Just go with good old fashioned peanut butter and jelly," Bobby decided, waiting for Sam's seal of approval.
"Sounds good," Dean called back from the kitchen, and Sam nodded firmly.
"Okay, then. Tour time now?" Bobby asked Sam, who nodded excitedly.
He had originally asked for it to make sure that Bobby didn't stay with Dean, because bad things happened when people stayed with Dean, and then Dean would cry and Sam didn't like to see Dean cry. Now, though, he was actually getting excited about seeing the house. He wasn't worried about Bobby staying with him. As far as he knew, Dean had supernatural powers that protected Sam no matter where he was.
"Yeah, let's go!" he answered with another giggle.
Dean fought back a short wave of jealousy as he realized that it was no longer his most rewarding job to make sure that Sammy laughed like that. It used to be like a contest. He would be in extreme pain, and Sam would be so worried and scared and Dean would do and say anything he possibly could until Sammy couldn't hold in the laughter anymore, then they both knew that they would be okay, and they could rest. After a nightmare, sometimes, Dean would lull Sammy back to sleep with an extremely silly story, especially if the nightmare had shaken him too and he needed to hear the precious giggle to know that all was right in the world.
Shaking thoughts of jealously and time past from his mind, Dean unwrapped the cellophane cover around the bread.
He opened the package as quietly as he could, watching each fold of plastic separate, flatten, and straighten out into a solid rectangle around the pre sliced loaf of bread. Discarding the first slice, because no one actually eats the ends of the bread, he drew out two perfectly rounded slices of white bread, nodding to himself at the quality of the bread. Sammy was about to be spoiled, he realized, considering that they could actually get what he wanted instead of always going for the off brand, cheaper stuff.
With a start, he realized that he wouldn't have to save up quarters for Lucky Charms anymore. If they ran out (and by "they" he obviously meant "Sammy"), Bobby would just buy more.
He laid the bread slices side by side and pursed his lips, looking around the kitchen. He opened various drawers and cabinets before he finally found what he was looking for: a butter knife, which he laid above the bread, handle above one slice and nonexistent blade above the other; a jar of peanut butter, creamy not crunchy because Sam didn't like peanuts no matter how much he loved peanut butter; and a ripe banana, perfectly yellow with less than five bruises but with absolutely no green because Sammy deserved the absolute best quality when it was available.
He carefully the lid from the peanut butter and tore off the inner seal with only a moment of compulsory doubt. He had to remind himself once again that he was at Bobby's not with John. This wasn't a random stranger's place, he didn't have to pay for everything his brother ate. With a start, Dean realized that he would have to make himself a sandwich too, and Bobby would be there when he ate it, and he wouldn't get in trouble for being wasteful.
Shaking his head, Dean dug the knife into the peanut butter and swirled it up like he would have if Sammy had been watching him. The kid was so fascinated by the way peanut butter worked, and it cracked Dean up, but the rule was to take care of Sammy, so that was what he did.
Drawing the knife out, coated thickly in the spread, he smiled at his success and spread the knife's contents on the bread with a flourish. Each layer of peanut butter had its own secret message, although Sammy didn't know that. This one had a crudely drawn car outline sketched into the gooey spread.
Wiping the knife clean on the other slice of bread, Dean reached for the giant banana. He carefully peeled it, making sure to keep all the strings on the peel because Sammy hated strings, and pulled the little stick at the end out. Using the butter knife, he sliced the banana into normal sized slices, then layered them carefully onto the peanut butter until he had a single, solid layer of banana above the first layer of peanut butter.
Next was the peanut butter again. He slathered more of the peanut butter over the banana until it was entirely covered, then carefully drew three stick figures of varying sizes, and one rectangle that clearly represented their luggage, but it really didn't matter since Sammy would never see it anyway.
Normally, if Sammy were watching, he wouldn't do anything sappy. He would be telling a pirate story, and everything about the sandwich making process was part of the story. As he stirred the peanut butter, he would tell Sammy how the waves in the ocean whipped against the boat, as he chopped the banana, there would be some magnificent weapons training, and each layer of peanut butter would have a sketch of the story in it.
Grabbing more banana slices, he smiled at the memories of the countless pirate stories he had told. They were all the same, really. Dean and Sam were the most widely feared pirates of the seven seas, but they never hurt anyone. No, they were the best because they helped people instead, and it terrified the other pirates, who were governed by violence, because brotherly love trumps all fears.
He added more peanut butter to his creation and pursed his lips, looking at the banana slices left. There was just enough for one more layer, so he drew a triangle with a square beneath it, making a house, and added an open door, since he was feeling artistic today.
More bananas, and he slipped the last slice into his mouth since it wouldn't fit on the sandwich. If Sammy were there, he would smirk and say, "Consider it income tax. Sandwich incoming, Dean gets the tax," or something equally corny. "Just be glad I didn't take a bite out of this monstrosity!"
And Sam would giggle and say wisely, "That's why I eat it, Dee!"
Dean shook his head. He had to start remembering that his baby brother was a teenager, but he didn't want to start facing that whole thing yet.
He slathered the last layer of peanut butter and, feeling unbelievably sappy, attempted a heart.
He laid the top slice of bread over the whole thing, carefully sliced the sandwich diagonally, and laid the sandwich on a plate he'd found during his treasure hunt.
He grabbed two more plates and made his and Bobby's peanut butter and jelly without any further deliberation, finishing just as the tour ended.
Bobby took one look at Sam's sandwich and shot Dean a very grateful look.
"Did you put pictures on it?" Sam asked, excitedly.
"Yeah, but they're all smashed now," Dean reminded Sam quickly.
"Oh, right! Will you tell me the story?" he asked hopefully.
"It's the best story ever," Dean promised.
"Is it pirates?"
"Better than pirates."
"It's still brothers, though, right?"
"It will always be brothers, baby boy."
"What is it, then?"
Dean grinned and walked his plate to the dining room table. "It's our story, Sammy. The beginning, at least. I don't know the end yet."
Sammy frowned. "You drew pictures of us as babies?"
Dean shook his head. "I drew pictures of us coming here."
"But you said it was the beginning!" Sam explained, confused.
Dean smiled softly and rested his hand on his baby brother's head. "It is," he answered simply, not seeing Bobby's pleased expression in the background as he observed this.
"Everything before, it didn't matter. This is the beginning of us, okay, Sammy?"
Sam nodded. "You mean, like a blank page?"
"I mean, like a completely different diary, princess," Dean teased, dodging the inevitable punch and choosing not to remark on its lack of strength and pain.
It was a fresh start, after all.