"Here." Sam looked up from where he sat, plucking at the blades of grass that were taller than the others. He had to blink his eyes a few times to adjust them to the new levels of sunlight, and soon what the other boy was holding in his hand came into focus; a dandelion. The curly-haired toddler made a face- the beginnings of what would later be given an affectionate title- and tilted his head just a bit.
"What?" he asked his older brother, who was extending the puffball to him carefully between two fingers. Dean sat down beside him, the little boy's gaze held on him as he crossed his legs and held the flower between them.
"You make wishes with them," he explained, looking at it with interest. "That's what one of the girls at school told me."
"Wishes?" The round, off-set blue eyes of the younger child focused in on the weed, the entirety of it suddenly seeming magical. The little wisps on the end of the stem reminded him of a cloud, like the one Dean said Mommy lived on.
"Yeah. You're supposed to blow on it, and think really really hard about what your wish is," his brother explained, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. In the sunlight the seven-year-old seemed almost thirty, the gleam in his eyes showing grief for the innocence he knew his brother would soon lose. Underneath his shirt hid injuries old and new of origins he'd lost track of, most from Hunts, a few from normal boyish activities, and a certain couple- forming a distinct print around his left bicep- a reminder that if he ever left Sammy alone like that again...
"I make a wishes?" Sam asked, reaching out a chubby hand and flexing his fingers in and out a couple of times. Dean gave a gentle and exhausted chuckle, and as he lifted his chin the darkness under his eyes could be mistaken as shadows cast from his eyelashes.
"Why else would I get it for you?" The kid looked at him quizzically; sometimes he forgot how young his brother actually was. "Yes, you can."
Sam gave a laugh of delight, taking the dandelion and glancing over it some more. He didn't say anything for a moment, just stared at the little plant with such focus that it could have caught flame. His elder brother chuckled, furrowing his eyebrows.
"What're you doin', Sammy?" he inquired, observing him. The toddler huffed, looking over at the other boy.
"I can' think an' blow at the same time!" he pouted, snapping his eyes back to the object of his frustration. Dean smiled affectionately, sighing with amusement, and reached out to help steady his brother's hand.
"Okay, I'll help you. Think about your wish-" Sam closed his eyes tightly, pursing his lips together; "-and, ready..."
Both of them blew out, one (hint, the three-year-old) more forcefully than the other. The seeds fluttered out in front of them as the little boy opened his eyes, and he let out a squeal of delight as the breeze caught them and carried them off, some landing on the lawn before them, others drifting as far as the broken car Bobby was helping their dad to fix.
"I made a wishes! I made a wishes!" Sam proclaimed excitably, clapping his hands and looking at Dean with the green stalk still in his grasp. "I made a wishes f-"
"You can't tell me!" he cut in, waving his hands in the way an umpire would whilst calling a player as 'out'. The toddler stared at him, and suddenly his energetic grin turned sad. Well... "Okay. Fine. What did you wish?"
The smile sprang right back onto his face. "I wish that you're my big brother forever!"
The older Winchester boy could feel himself melt, and he reached out to ruffle the boy's hair. "I will be, don't you worry Sammy."
"Dean!" He looked up at hearing his name, seeing his father wiping black grease from his hands onto a dirtied and faded orange rag, and looking out to his sons. John waved a hand, motioning for him to come.
"C'mon, Sam," he said, helping his brother onto his feet. The toddler searched for any last floating dandelion pods- to his disappointment, they had all settled- before following Dean, going to the black muscle car they'd taken to as their home.
"Y'all take care," said Bobby, watching as John put his youngest boy into his car seat and closed the door.
"Thanks again," he nodded to his friend with a smile, getting into the driver's seat. Dean moved to skirt around the car and get into the back seat beside Sam, but the mechanic put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. He looked up to find a proud smile and a tinge of sympathy underneath the brim of a baseball cap.
"You take care of yourself boy," he said, patting him on the back before taking a step backwards. Dean grinned softly in response and gave a nod, then went to get into the car as he heard the purr of the engine start up.
They'd hardly driven more than a few miles when Sam fell asleep, hand still wrapped around the flower shaft where he had it held against his chest protectively. Of all things he could have wished for... The thought brought a slight smirk to Dean's face, and he turned his head to rest it against the door of the car. He lazily watched scenery pass, vaguely hearing the scores of whatever baseball team his dad was tracking come from an enthusiastic radio host, his eyes growing heavy as sleep called to him. They passed fields of yellowed grass and landscapes that rose and fell with mountains and plateaus, rivers with a few ranch mens' horses drinking at their bays, but Dean only noted one thing; the patches of tall, proud dandelion puffs that littered the ground ever so often.