Sam is crying. Again.
"What do you want?" Dean half whines, rocking the baby softly in his arms. He had tried the bottle, had tried the stupid rattle thing that Dad insisted Dean had to walk into the store to buy by himself, had tried making faces and spewing nonsense. And Sam was still crying. Five years old and he's sitting on a motel couch, nervously rocking while shooting looks towards where his dad is sprawled out on the motel bed and will not wake up. Dean had tried an hour ago, shaking John's leg, begging him to make Sam stop because Dad had a way of holding Sam that would shut the kid right up.
But Dean's on his own now, and he can't make Sam stop crying. What type of big brother can't take care of his baby brother? He is a hair's breath away from crying himself, biting at his bottom lip and hushing Sammy with meaningless words. Finally, he ducks his head and presses his lips to Sam's forehead, carefully avoiding the swinging fists.
"Hey Jude," Dean sings, his voice weak and wavering, nothing like how Mom would sing, not even close. "Don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better." Sam quiets, but whimpers, hitting at Dean but now staring at him with wide brown eyes that are hinting towards hazel. "Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better." Sammy breaks in his noise, gaping at Dean as if he had just opened the sky and not his mouth. The song doesn't sound anything like Dean remembers it sounding, it sounds stupid and he doesn't understand a single word but he remembers them all because mom sang them.
And, miraculously, Sammy stops crying.
"Turn on the radio, for christssake," Jess giggles from the passenger seat, already halfway towards drunk and it's not even nine. Sam rolls his eyes, accepting the sloppy kiss she smears against his cheek as he finds the radio dial in her beat up old Honda. The first station is all static, which is met by groans all around and a laugh from the ever sober Sam. Jess tries to slap his hand away but ends up smacking the shift stick instead. "Shit, I'm drunk," she concludes after a moment's anaylsis.
"Yes you are," Sam confirms for her, smiling at the frown she flashes him.
"Why aren't you?" she demands.
"Yeah, Winchester!" Chris demands from the back seat.
"Shut up," Sam shoots easily into the rear view mirror and Chris complies just as easily, leaning back and grinning openly at the sorority girl on his side. With a nod, Sam refocuses on Jess. "I'm DD tonight. Gotta protect you from the big bads out there while you're inebriated." Jess rolls her eyes, but smiles anyway as she leans in and kisses him on the mouth. She tastes of cheap beer and strawberry chapstick.
"Why are we still in the parking lot?" Nameless sorority girl number 1 questions from directly behind Sam. "And why are we listening to the gospel channel?" Without offering an answer, Sam shifts the car into drive and then hits the first button on the radio. The song that spills out is familiar, yet Sam can't place it. It's a nice change from the music that Chris had insisted on playing at the house, which earns him more groans from the backseat.
"What is this shit?" Chris whines, immediately slapped lightly on the shoulder by nameless sorority girl number two as she declares, "Shut your mouth, I love the Beatles!"
"Didn't know you were a Beatles fan," Jess teases softly, her hand curling around his on his knee. He thinks that over, contemplating the song as it rolls out of the speakers.
"Hey Jude, don't make it bad," the radio crones and while it's not exactly Sam's usual cup of tea, it soothes him, calming the nervous energy that's been racing through him since Chris even suggested going out that night. "Take a sad song, and make it better."
"Me either," he says with a shrug, smiling brightly as he turns onto the road. The song is over in minutes, but it lapses in his mind. And, in a way that the drunken escapades don't, it reminds him of home. It reminds him of Dean.