The Origin of an Obsession
By oddlittleangel
When Dean was just a few months old, his favorite food was applesauce.
Mary wasn't having the best morning of her life. She had woken up at 4:30 to a squealing baby and a bad migraine. Definitely not the best way to start the day. John of course had the miraculous ability to block out the noise of the baby and was still sleeping like a rock next to her. Having woken up on the wrong side of the bed, she really did not need the added stress of figuring out what Dean wanted and why he was shrieking like a banshee so early in the friggin morning. She loved her son, she really did, but he could be just so exhausting sometimes.
With a tired groan, she rolled over and prodded John with her finger, hoping that he would wake up and take care of Dean. John, true to character, only snuffled a little before grumbling, "M'kay, m'kay, I'll take care of it. Just gimme a minute..." before he promptly fell back asleep and resumed snoring softly. Sighing, Mary got up to go see what was wrong with Dean and staggered down the hall to the nursery.
It seemed that Dean was not pleased with being kept waiting and his cries only got louder as Mary trudged down the hall. The noise wasn't helping her migraine. With an inward groan, she ran her hand over her face and tried to put on a smile for her son. Taking a deep breath, she gingerly turned the knob of the nursery door and strode inside. Dean's crying seemed ten times louder and Mary struggled to squash the impulse to jam her hands over her ears and just leave him there.
Walking to Dean's crib, she strengthened her resolve and scooped him up, holding him to her chest, his head tucked under her chin. Bouncing him in her arms, she began to coo at him and ask him what was wrong. She knew he probably couldn't understand her, but it didn't hurt to try. Dean only answered with more wailing. With another heavy sigh, Mary decided to check him for a dirty diaper. Nope - still clean. She reached for the bottle of milk beside the crib and tried offering it to her son, but he just cried harder and turned his head away. With another heavy sigh, she continued bouncing him and he seemed to calm down a little.
"Oh, so you just missed me, huh mister. Well Mommy needs her sleep, so why don't you get some shut eye too, whaddaya say?" Mary murmured. Still bouncing, she started to stroke his head and started singing softly to him.
"Hey Jude, don't make it bad.
Take a sad song and make it better.
Remember to let her into your heart,
Then you can start to make it better.
Hey Jude, don't be afraid.
You were made to go out and get her.
The minute you let her under your skin,
Then you begin to make it better.
And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain,
Don't carry the world upon your shoulders.
For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool
By making his world a little colder.
Hey Jude, don't let me down.
You have found her, now go and get her.
Remember to let her into your heart,
Then you can start to make it better.
So let it out and let it in, hey Jude, begin,
You're waiting for someone to perform with.
And don't you know that it's just you, hey Jude, you'll do,
The movement you need is on your shoulder.
Hey Jude, don't make it bad.
Take a sad song and make it better.
Remember to let her under your skin,
Then you'll begin to make it
Better better better better better better, oh.
Na na na na na na na, na na na na, hey Jude..."
By the time she got to the "na na na" part, Dean was sound asleep, nuzzling his little round head into Mary's chin, quiet as a mouse. She continued to rock him for a minute before replacing him in his crib and leaving the room, whispering a fond "Angels are watching over you" before closing the door with a soft snick. Grateful for the newfound peace and quiet, she shuffled back to the master bedroom and burrowed back under the covers, giving John a soft kick for making her get up again. Having a baby taught Mary to take sleep when she could get it, so her eyes were shut and she was back in dreamland before her head hit the pillow.
It seemed to be only seconds before Mary was jolted awake once again by Dean's crying. Without opening her eyes, she prodded John with her foot to try and wake her husband from his slumber. "John," she said. Sensing no response, she gave his leg another poke and repeated "John, the baby." Still, John failed to wake up. Losing the last shred of her patience, she squeezed her eyes shut in annoyance, gave him a well-placed kick, and said, "JOHN!" her voice about two decibels away from a shout. John wisely sat up.
Rubbing his sore leg, John grimaced and asked incredulously, "Honey, what was that for?" Making no move to answer him, Mary just sat there with her arms crossed in front of her, the very picture of irritation. John groaned inwardly, wondering what the hell he could've done wrong. Noticing a distinct lack of light coming from the window, he tried to rub the sleep from his eyes and asked petulantly, "What time is it?" Mary still didn't answer him, choosing instead to jerk her chin at the clock. John squinted as he read the time. "5:18? What the hell are we doing up so early?" he exclaimed.
With a glare, Mary shot a pointed glance toward the door. It was then that the situation dawned on John. Dean was crying again. Wait, again? Looking back, John vaguely remembered Mary trying to wake him up earlier. He also remembered telling her that he would take care of it. How long ago was that? Shit, that meant that Mary had to take care of Dean. Shit shit SHIT! John knew from experience that Mary could become very unpleasant when she was cranky. Panicking now, he practically leapt out of bed and rushed to the door, mumbling a chorus of apologies as he left the room. Mary lay back down with a small smile tugging at her lips.
All but running to the nursery, he charged in and tried to address the apparent problem. Scooping Dean up just like Mary did, he held him to his chest and tucked his head under his chin, stroking his hair. John cooed at his son, murmuring "Sh, sh, it's okay, Daddy's here, Dean, Daddy's here. What's wrong, little man?" After a few minutes passed and Dean had still not calmed down, John decided to check for a dirty diaper. "Well, everything's all clear down there. Are you hungry?" Setting him down again and trying to ignore the louder wailing that ensued, John sprinted down the stairs to the kitchen and grabbed a container of semi-liquid rice cereal and another of babies' applesauce, which he thought Dean might like better. After running up the stairs, John took the containers to the nursery and took Dean back out of his crib.
Holding Dean in one arm and the rice cereal in another, he scooped up a glob of it with a spoon and tried to entice the ever picky Dean. "What?" John said. "You don't like the rice cereal?" If he didn't know better, he would've said that his son was shaking his head. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation. "Okay, how about this applesauce?" he asked. Emptying the spoon back into the container, he scooped up some applesauce and offered it to his son. He was a little nervous because it was Dean's first time trying the food. Dean stared at the food for a few moments, then took a tentative taste. Then he ate the rest of the spoonful. Then he ate another. And another. After five minutes and some more rocking, Dean was asleep once more and John was allowed back into bed.
For another two years, applesauce remained Dean's favorite food.
Dean became a toddler, and yogurt was the new thing.
When Dean stood up for the first time, Mary and John were ecstatic. The house rang with their praises and it seemed that a good hour each day were spent with one of them bent over, Dean's tiny hands in theirs and his little feet on their shoes. They would walk back and forth over the rug in the living room, and all the while Dean's burbling laugh filled the room. Guests coming over would swear up and down that they could see a worn line on the carpet, as if someone had been pacing back and forth. Whenever they heard this, Mary and John would turn bright red and glance at each other, contented smiles on their lips.
When Dean started walking, Mary and John would spend hours kneeling on that same rug, cooing to their son while he took hesitant steps, teetering slightly as he waddled back and forth between the two. With a gentle push and a proud "Go to mommy, Dean," John would send him to his wife. "Come on, Dean. Come to Mommy," Mary would say, both of she and John urging him on with encouraging words and a frankly alarming amount of baby talk.
Dean would fix his clear, green-eyed gaze on his mother, eyes never wavering as he scrunched up his face and made the long journey into Mary's arms, already so eager to please and hear the lovely sounds his parents made when he did something right. When Dean reached her, Mary would gather him up in her arms and shower him with kisses. Before she sent him back to John, she would bend down and blow a giant raspberry into Dean's round stomach, and he would explode into laughter again until she stopped. Then Mary would turn him around and push him toward John, and the process would start all over again.
This giddiness over Dean's walking soon disappeared along with the novelty of it. It seemed that Mary and John were too rewarding with their praise. No, Dean didn't stop walking. In fact, it was almost impossible to get him to stop. He followed Mary and John around everywhere, and sometimes he just went off on his own, wandering the house and even trying to go up and down stairs. Needless to say, these little adventures resulted in a fair amount of tumbling, but Dean never seemed to care. If anything, the failures seemed to make him even more determined to walk like his parents.
As time went on, Dean got better at walking, and his parents were on their toes trying to keep him in sight. One afternoon, Dean heard his stomach rumble. Remembering the books Mary read to him, he went to find his mom. Walking as fast as he could (because mommy said not to run in the house since he would fall again) he searched each of the rooms while yelling "Mommy!" at the top of his lungs. Hearing her son, Mary ran in from the garden where she was pulling out some weeds. "Dean? What is it? Do you have a boo boo? Let Mommy see it," she demanded, kneeled down and patting her son all over, checking for injuries. After waiting patiently for his mother to finish her inspection, Dean locked his big, green eyes with hers and said, "Mommy no run! Mommy get hurt!"
Mary sighed and stood up, relieved that her son did not seem to be in any apparent danger or have any injuries. "Sweetie, you made me so worried! Why did you call me?"
Dean looked up and dramatically pointed to his stomach. "Tummy rumble," he said. "Hungry, Mommy!"
"Oh angel, next time just tell me, okay?" Mary replied, glad that that was the only issue. "Here, I'll make us a snack." She turned around and walked to the kitchen, Dean trailing behind like a puppy. She opened the fridge and tried to find Dean a light snack that would still hold him until dinner. After a little digging around, she emerged victorious, holding a container of yogurt up like it was a priceless treasure. "How about this, Dean. I think you'll like it." Nodding his assent, Dean took the yogurt from his mother and tried to open it...with little success. Seeing her son's predicament, Marry gently took the container from him and said, "Next time ask me to open it, you silly goose," before handing it back and getting him a spoon.
"NO!" Dean said. "I do myself!"
"Okay, Dean. Next time you can do it," Mary replied, amused. Dean nodded, as if it was a given fact and he couldn't believe that his mother forgot that. This only made Mary want to laugh more. Settling down at the dining table, Dean stabbed his spoon into the yogurt and jammed it into his mouth. He was about to swallow, but thought better of it and snuck up on his mother instead. He lightly tapped her elbow, and Mary jumped and turned around. "Dean, don't do that. You scared me!" she cried. Grinning, he opened his mouth, revealing the glob of yogurt still on his tongue. "Dean, that's not nice! Don't open your mouth when you eat," Mary scolded, averting her eyes from the disgusting display. Dean only grinned again but swallowed the yogurt.
Shaking her head, Mary turned back to the fridge and resumed her search for her own container of yogurt. Finding one, she grabbed a spoon and followed her son back to the table. Plopping down in the chair next to him, she started to eat. By this time, Dean was almost finished with his and he ate quickly, eager to continue playing with his toys. After scraping the container clean, he set it back down on the table and climbed off his chair, scampering off and throwing a "Thank you, Mommy!" over his shoulder, ever the gentleman. Mary shook her head with a fond smile as she watched her son run off. "No running, Dean!" she said, chuckling when he abruptly slowed to a brisk walk.
After dinner, Dean asked to have yogurt again, along with applesauce. The day after that, he wanted yogurt for breakfast and then again for a snack. And the day after that, and the day after that. Every time, he would keep some on his tongue and show the gooey mess to anyone who would look.
When Dean turned four, feeding him got a little more complicated. For one thing Dean was more reluctant to eat vegetables.
"Okay, kids, it's time for lunch!" the teacher said. "Go to your cubbies and get your lunchboxes. If you need to heat your lunch up, just call me over and I'll heat it up for you."
With an exuberant cheer, the twelve rambunctious three-year-olds and four-year-olds rushed over to their cubbies and grabbed their lunches, running to the little tables and plopping down next to their friends. Dean smiled when he saw his lunchbox. It looked just like his dad's car. He was very proud of it. Gripping it tight with his chubby little fist, he made his way back to the red table to sit with Benny, his "bestest friend in the whole wide world." Opening his lunchbox, he sighed contentedly at the welcome sight of a juice box, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a little Ziploc bag of carrots, and a chocolate chip cookie.
With a grin, he poked the straw into the top of the juice box and took out the carrots. Just as he was about to pop one of the orange vegetables into his mouth, Bryce, the meanest kid in class, glanced over and said with a grimace, "How can you eat that? Don't you know that veggies are gross?" Before Dean had a chance to open his mouth to protest, Bryce stood up, an accusatory finger pointed straight at Dean and an unpleasant sneer on his face. "Here that guys? Dean likes veggies!" The rest of his lackeys burst into laughter and the teacher looked over, a frown on her face. Not wanting to get in trouble, the boys snickered and went back to their food.
Dean's heart sank and he put the carrot back, silently sealing the bag and stuffing it back in his lunchbox. Eyes downcast, he took out his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, taking a small bite and trying to push down the longing he had for the crisp crunch the carrots had. Benny put a hand on his shoulder and asked in a small voice, "Are you okay, Dean?"
"Yeah," Dean answered tiredly, trying to smile for Benny. "I'm fine."
"Don't listen to him, Dean. I think vegetables taste fine," Benny said, trying to cheer up his friend. Dean remained silent and tried to finish his lunch. Soon the sandwich was gone along with the juice and only the cookie was left. Dean took a giant bite, trying to show Benny that he forgot about it. Only, the cookie didn't taste so good anymore. He ate slowly, but eventually the cookie was gone too. With a heavy sigh, he closed his lunchbox and took it back to his cubby.
The rest of the day progressed smoothly. After lunch, the kids were allowed outside and Dean and Benny played a game of catch. Then the teacher ushered the class back inside and read them a story. Soon, it was time to go home. The kids sat down at the tables once more, taking the opportunity to draw while they waited for their parents. One by one, their names were called, each child running out the door and into their parents arms. Before long, Bryce's name was called. As he walked past Dean, he leaned down and whispered, "See you tomorrow, veggie face." Dean didn't say anything. After Bryce walked out the door, he wilted. Benny put his hand on Dean's shoulder again. He didn't say anything either, just left his hand there until Dean was called.
"See you tomorrow, Dean," he said, waving goodbye.
"Yeah, see you," Dean replied.
When Dean saw his father, he broke into a run and catapulted into his arms, burying his face into his neck. John grunted, the force of the hug making him rock back onto his heels a little. "Whoa there, sport. Did something happen?" Refusing to move or let go, Dean shook his head vigorously and held on tighter. John knew something was up, but he decided to let it go. If it was really serious, he knew Dean would tell him. "Okay, sport," he said. "Come on now, let's go home."
"Okay, Daddy," Dean said softly, letting go after a moment. Hand in hand, the two Winchesters walked to John's black'67 Chevy Impala. John opened the door for his son, and Dean climbed in, buckling his seatbelt like his dad told him to. He watched as John jogged to the driver's side and sat down, putting his own seatbelt on before turning the key in the ignition and pulling out of the parking spot. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, he glanced up at the rearview mirror and asked, "How was your day, son?"
Dean just continued looking at the window and muttered a short "Fine." John's eyebrows drew together and he frowned, noticing the slump of his son's shoulders. This was nothing like the energetic Dean he usually drove home. Something was definitely wrong. The one thing he wanted to do was pull over and ask Dean what happened, but he knew from experience that it would only make his son clam up more. Dean was like him that way. They spent the rest of the car ride like that, both of them silent.
When John pulled into the driveway, Dean grabbed his lunchbox and pushed open the door. Still silent, the two walked to the house and John unlocked the door, letting Dean in. Mary was waiting for them, and John pulled her into a hug. Seeing that Dean was preoccupied, he turned his head and whispered into Mary's ear, "I think something happened at pre-school. Can you find out what?" Mary's eyebrows drew together and she nodded. Letting go, John gave her a quick kiss before walking back out the door so he could go back to work, waving as he pulled back out of the driveway.
"Hey, angel," Mary said, pulling Dean into her arms. "I missed you, Dean." She let go after a moment, standing up and taking Dean's lunchbox to the kitchen from where he left it on the dining table. Humming to herself, she opened the lunchbox and frowned at what she saw. "Dean," she called, waiting for him to come to the kitchen before going on. "Why didn't you eat your carrots? I thought you loved carrots?" Her heart sank when she saw her son's face contort as he struggled not to cry. Very worried now, Mary knelt down and gathered her son into her arms again. Dean never cried. The comforting warmth too much for him, Dean gave in and burst into tears.
"Sh, sh. It's okay, baby. Mommy's going to make it better. What happened, sweetheart?" Mary cooed, stroking Dean's hair and back as she waited for him to calm down enough to answer.
Taking a deep breath, Dean stopped his sobbing long enough to stutter out, "B-Bryce said that v-v-veggies are i-icky." Breaking into another sob, Dean hugged his mother harder. "He-he called me v-veggie f-ace!" he wailed.
"Sh, it's okay, baby. Bryce doesn't know what he's talking about. Veggies are good for you!" Mary said, trying to reassure the trembling boy.
"Really?" Dean asked, green eyes shining as he drew back his tear-streaked face to look at his mother.
"Yes really, I promise," Mary said.
"Okay," Dean replied, the tears finally stopping.
The next day, Dean found Mary in the kitchen when she was making his lunch. "No thank you," he said as Mary tried to put in some celery sticks. Mary sighed.
For another, he started wanting to help in the kitchen. And the big cherry on top? Dean just couldn't make up his mind anymore. Some days, he got a craving for pasta.
When Dean got home from pre-school, he ran to his mother in the living room and jumped into her lap. Mary chuckled, wrapping her arms around him and kissing his head. "I take it you had a good day then?" she asked, sure of what the answer would be.
"Yeah!" Dean answered. "Ms. Anya made me student of the week and I got to read to the class. Then we drew pictures and Ms. Anya taught us the Pledge of Allegiance."
"Did she now?" Mary asked, a smile tugging at her lips. Dean nodded eagerly, eyes wide and shining. "Let's hear it then," Mary said. Taking a deep breath, Dean placed his right hand over his heart and began to recite:
I pledge Allegiance to the flag
of the United States of America
and to the Republic for which it stands,
one nation under God, indivisible,
with Liberty and Justice for all.
Mary smiled as her son spoke, mouthing the words along with him, the same words that her teachers taught her all those years ago. She took in his strong forehead and the solemn set of his mouth, and saw that her son was no longer the tiny baby she imagined him to be. Soon he would be all grown up. She shook herself, driving away the dreadful thought as she forced her way back to the present. When her eyes went back into focus, the first thing she saw was Dean frowning, a question trying to escape from his lips. "Are you okay, Mommy?" he asked.
"I'm fine, baby. I was just thinking," she replied.
"Thinking about what, Mommy?" Dean asked.
"Nothing, honey. You did a fine job with the Pledge though. Got every word right," Mary answered, trying to distract her son from the unsatisfactory answer.
"I did?" Dean asked, wonder evident in his voice.
"You did," Mary confirmed, nodding sagely at the earnest little boy standing in front of her.
Dean's face broke into a grin, all traces of the man Mary envisioned gone as he seemed to transform back into her little boy. "You know what, I think you deserve to pick dinner tonight," she said, desperate to keep this version of Dean.
Mary didn't think it was possible, but Dean's grin grew even wider, seeming to reach his ears, his white teeth sparkling like pearls. Smiling at the sight, she searched for another bright idea to make her son smile. All of a sudden, it seemed as though a light bulb turned on in her head and she said, "Hey, why don't you help me make it?" Lately, Dean had taken a liking to helping her out in the kitchen, and while things had started getting a little messier, she loved the smiles it drew from him.
Dean threw his arms around his mother and kissed her cheek, pulling back afterward and saying, "Thank you! I love you, Mommy!"
Mary's heart melted at the words and she pressed another kiss to his head and asked the million dollar question. "So, what do you want for dinner today?"
"Spaghetti!" Dean yelled, making Mary wince a little.
"Alright, but next time no shouting, okay, squirt?" Mary said.
"Sorry, Mommy," Dean apologized, looking genuinely repentant for a moment. But only a moment. Then, he was all smiles again and he asked, "So can we make spaghetti now?"
"Hold on, it's only one o'clock! We have to wait until at least 4:30 so the food is still fresh by the time your daddy gets home and we have dinner. Why don't you go play and I'll call you when it's time." Mary said.
"Okay..." Dean agreed, looking more than a little disappointed. Then he perked up again and asked, "Can we go to the park?"
"Sure," Mary replied. "Let me just put on my shoes and we'll go, but only for one hour okay?"
"Yay!" Dean shouted, and the pair left the house to go to the park, a definite skip in Dean's step.
When they got back, Dean was all tuckered out, and all he seemed to want to do was take a nap. Catching his enormous yawn, Mary stooped down and carried him upstairs to his room, mindful of her pregnant belly. By the time she tucked him into bed, his eyes were half closed and he could only muster the strength to ask, "Mommy, can you sing to me?" Instead of answering, Mary just began to sing the song she sang to him every night, her voice quiet and soothing as he drifted off to sleep. For a while, she just sat there stroking his head as she reveled in how sweet he looked all snuggled up under the covers. Getting up and turning off the bedside lamp, she crept to the door. "Sleep well, angel," she whispered fondly before slipping outside and shutting the door behind her.
When 4:45 rolled around, Mary put down the book she was reading and remade the journey upstairs to wake her sleeping son. Sitting on the chair next to his bed, she leaned over and shook his shoulder gently. "Dean. Dean, honey, wake up. It's time to make dinner, sweetheart," she said, her voice soft and cajoling. When she got no response, Mary shook his shoulder again, this time whispering in his ear, "Dean, if you don't wake up, I'll make dinner all. By. My. Self."
Dean was up like a shot, throwing his arms around his mother's neck and saying, "No, Mommy, wait for me! I promise I'll be good, promise!" His voice was panicked, as if he truly believed that Mary would break her promise to him. Laughing, Mary unwrapped his arms from around her neck and set him down on the floor, standing up from the chair and striding out the door. "Last one down's a rotten egg!" she teased. She needn't have bothered; Dean was already rushing down the stairs by the time she said 'rotten'. By the time Mary got down, Dean was waiting patiently in the kitchen.
"Okay, Speedy Gonzales, I guess I'm the rotten egg," she said. Dean just grinned.
"Come on, Mommy! It's already 4:50 and we still haven't started!" he fretted.
"Well whose fault is that?" Mary scolded.
"If you woke me up earlier..." Dean began, stopping short when his mother raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Okay, I should've woken up faster," he amended.
"That's right, mister. Now let's stop wasting time and get started, whaddaya say?" she said.
Without further ado, the two set about making dinner. Mary didn't let her son use the knives for obvious reasons, so his job was mainly to throw things into the pot. When it was time to add in the cheese, Mary let Dean decide how much to use. In went handful after handful, until she eventually had to intervene.
"Whoa there, sport. You don't want to add too much cheese, do you?" she scolded.
"But Mommy, it tastes best with a lot of cheese!" Dean whined.
"But Dean, you already put in a lot of cheese. It's going to be too much!" Mary countered.
"Fine," Dean groused. "Just a little more?" he begged hopefully. With his puppy dog eyes unleashed at full power, it was hard to refuse Dean anything, so Mary grudgingly agreed. With a fist pump and a shouted "Yes!" Dean threw in his last handful. An extra large one. This didn't escape Mary's attention by any means, but she let it go good naturedly.
When John got home, dinner was ready and the three sat down to eat. John shared a little about his day, Dean waiting impatiently to regale his father with his own story. This led to another recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance, and John was very proud. "You know, Dean, I used to be a soldier," he told him.
"Really? That's so cool! Ms. Anya told us about soldiers. You must be really brave, Daddy," he said, bouncing up and down with excitement."Do you think I can be a soldier too when I grow up?" Hearing that made Mary's blood run cold. John had been lucky, but there were a lot of soldiers that died in combat. She didn't want her son to go that way. She wanted him to meet a nice girl and have 2.5 kids and a dog and a white picket fence. She wanted him to have a steady job and she wanted him to die at eighty, not forty. It's the whole reason she left the hunting life. She felt sick thinking about Dean becoming a soldier, or God forbid, a hunter. Eyes wide, she shot a panicked glance at her husband.
John didn't seem to notice. "Sure thing, Dean, but don't do it because it's what I used to do. Do it because you want to serve your country," he said.
"I will, Dad! I'll be the best soldier ever!" Dean said, eyes shining. Then he continued to slurp up his spaghetti, naturally getting sauce all over his face, his clothes, and his place mat.
After she put Dean to sleep, Mary had a long talk with John.
Other times, Dean just had to have soup.
It was the middle of summer, and the days were spent lazily. Today was just like any other, and the four Winchesters woke up at 8:00, (even little Sammy, who never woke up more than once or twice a night nowadays), and Mary cooked breakfast. It was relaxed and savored, and John joked around with Dean. There was no such thing as rushing on these warm summer mornings, and John lingered until 8:30, at which time he ruffled his sons' hair with a teasing "Be good, ya hear?" and gave his wife a quick kiss before he was out the door, the rumble of the Impala's engine mingling with the muffled sound of classic rock and John' slightly off-key voice.
As always, Mary stood at the doorway, holding Dean close as he waved enthusiastically. They watched until they could no longer see the shiny black car nor hear the engine, then went back inside. From there, mother and son debated on how they wanted to spend the day. Mary didn't particularly care what they did – all that mattered to her was that Dean was satisfied and that she could bring Sammy along; she didn't see the point of hiring a babysitter when she was perfectly capable of taking care of her sons. Sometimes, they would go to the zoo or a museum. Other times they walked to the park, Dean running ahead impatiently while Mary kept a leisurely pace, pushing her younger son's stroller in front of her.
Today, Dean seemed content to play with his brother and help his mother out with the meals, as per the usual. "Mom, can I go play with Sammy? I want to show him all my toys," he said.
"Sure, hon, but remember, Sammy isn't as big as you, and he can't do everything you can."
"Iknow, mom," Dean reassured her, rolling his eyes long-sufferingly.
"Okay, Dean, you two have fun." Carefully, Mary bent down and gave her youngest to Dean, laying him tenderly in the older boy's arms. "Remember to support his head, okay?" she reminded him. She trusted Dean absolutely; he was somehow almost - if not as - attuned to his younger brother's wants and needs as she was herself, and was definitely more than John's match. She was still a mother though, and she knew that one couldn't be too careful when handling babies, especially ones as young as little Sammy. Dean was well aware of this, and was very careful with his brother despite his boyish nature.
Gingerly, Dean carried Sam back up to his room, chattering (quietly of course) about how much fun they were going to have. Carefully, he laid him in the little extra car seat Mary and John put in Dean's room for the very purpose. Once Dean was sure that Sam wouldn't roll out, he rushed to his toy box and started pulling out is worn but loved toys.
First he dug out the toy car he loved to push around. It was black of course, and looked like his dad's Impala if you squinted a little. Someday, Dean wanted a car just like his dad's. For now though, he was happy with this small version. Next came a scaly, green dinosaur that had big white teeth and small black eyes. Dean had gotten it as a fourth birthday present, and he thought it was very cool. Rummaging around a little more, he unearthed Batman, his favorite action figure. Finally, he ran to his bed and pulled out his teddy bear and favorite blanket. He would never tell anyone, but the reason why he didn't go to his parents when he had nightmares was because Teddy and Blankie protected him and always made him feel safe. Only Sammy officially knew about them. Dean would trust Sammy with anything. (Mary also knew of, but only because she had to wash them every now and then.)
If being an awesome big brother were a career, Dean would be the best in the business. Although Sammy couldn't say anything, Dean made sure to tell him all about everything, or at least as much of 'everything' as a four-year-old could know. He even told him all of his secrets. He knew Sammy would never tell anyone. And not just because he couldn't say anything yet either. Dean trusted Sam explicitly.
When Dean played with his toys, he liked to make up stories for them, and he loved sharing his stories with his brother. Today's particular tale starred Dino and Batman. As always, Dean nestled Teddy into his brother's arms, telling him that "Teddy is very special, so I want you to hold onto him tight and keep him safe, okay, Sammy?" before covering them both with his blanket. He was very careful about making sure Sammy never got cold or sick.
Taking a deep breath, he picked up Dino in one hand and Batman in the other. " 'Rawwwr!' " he bellowed, shaking the green dinosaur a little. " 'I'm gonna burn down Lawrence, and there's nothing you can do about it!' Dino said." Dean shook the dinosaurs hands for a moment, trying to give the impression of a crazed maniac. "Dino spit out a huge breath of fire, making all the buildings burn up in flames. The people of Lawrence ran around screaming and the whole town was in a panic. Suddenly, Batman arrived on the scene," Dean continued, making Batman jump down from the crate with a woosh. " 'Don't worry, I'll save you!' Batman said, his black cape flapping in the wind. Stepping up to the scary, fire-breathing dinosaur, he said 'You have to leave these people alone! I will not let you harm them anymore!' 'Rawwwr!' the dinosaur yelled again. 'You will never stop me!' he cackled. 'We'll see about that!' Batman replied." With that, Dean crashed the two together, a series of Bam!'s, Pow!'s, and Take that!'s spilling from his mouth as the two began to 'battle'. "Finally, Batman won the mighty fight and Dino ran back to where he came from. Suddenly, the brothers Dean and Sam Winchester appeared, and the trio began to fix the town. Soon, Lawrence was back to normal and everyone lived happily ever after."
Sammy happily clapped his chubby little hands and laughed, causing Dean to grin and get up to take an exaggerated bow. "Come on," he said, scooping his little brother up to bring him back downstairs. "Let's go and see what Mommy's doing."
After some investigation, Dean found Mary outside in the garden picking some tomatoes. Making sure that his hold on Sammy was secure, he walked as fast as he dared to where she was crouched over the plants. "Whatcha doing, Mommy?" he asked.
"Picking tomatoes. Do you want to help?" she replied. With a grin, Dean brought out the stroller and placed his brother inside. Hands free, he crouched down next to his mother and began to seek out the bright red vegetables, examining each one for blemishes. One by one, the perfect tomatoes were piled into basket sitting at Mary's feet.
When Mary determined that they had gathered enough, she picked up the basket and straightened, walking back to the house with Dean following close at her heels with Sammy in his arms. Once the three were back inside, Mary set the basket down on the kitchen counter and started to make lunch. "What're you making for lunch, Mommy?" Dean asked.
"I thought we'd have some spaghetti. You like that, right, Dean?" she answered.
"Yeah…" Dean agreed, voice trailing off a little at the end.
Mary knew there was a 'but' coming, and decided to save her son the trouble. "But…"
"I kinda feel like tomato rice soup today," Dean finished.
Mary was a little concerned; she only made Dean tomato rice soup when he was sick. "Dean, are you alright?" she asked anxiously.
"I'm fine, mom. Tomato rice soup just makes me feel good." Dean said reassuringly.
"If you're sure…" Dean nodded his head enthusiastically. "Okay, tomato rice soup it is then!" Mary declared before going about grabbing ingredients.
Then on November 2, 1983, all of that changed when Mary cooked burgers and apple pie for dinner.
Shivering from the slight chill that had just started to arrive in Kansas, John hurriedly closed and locked the door behind him as he stepped into his house smiling at the pounding noise of his oldest running down the stairs from where he was undoubtedly playing with his younger brother. He laughed as Dean rushed into his open arms, grunting a little at the force with which the young Winchester barreled into him. "Daddy, Daddy, you're home!" Dean yelled, squealing as his father picked him up to seat him on John's shoulders.
"Hey there, sport. I missed you too!" John exclaimed. "Where's your brother?"
"Right here," Mary called from the living room, Sammy cradled in her arms. Walking over to her husband, she gave him a quick kiss and returned to the kitchen where she was putting the final touches on dinner. Setting Dean down, John took a deep breath and inhaled the scent of burgers and apple pie that was permeating through the air. "Dinner smells wonderful, Mary, as always," he said appraisingly.
"Well," she replied, "let's see if it tastes as good as it smells. Dean, would you help me set the table?" she asked.
"Okay!" he chirped, joining her in the kitchen and bringing three sets of utensils to the table. Mary brought the glasses and plates herself, still wary of her son dropping them. It wasn't long before all four Winchesters were seated at the round wooden table, Sammy in a high chair with a small bowl of baby food instead of a cheeseburger. Without further ado, the family began to tuck in. Dean was a very messy eater and proceeded to get ketchup all over his face. He also didn't pay much attention to his mother's lectures about proper table manners, and insisted on talking with his mouth full, cheeks puffed out like a squirrel's. John was better, but he too attacked the mouth-watering food with great gusto. Mary just shook her head at them both and neatly ate her meal, stopping every so often to feed her younger son some of his own baby food. Before long the plates were empty and it was time for everyone's favorite part of the meal – dessert.
Standing up from her seat, Mary made her way back to the kitchen to where the warm apple pie was waiting. Reaching into the cupboard, she brought out three smaller plates and forks, setting them on the kitchen counter. She then proceeded to cut up the pie, the decadent smell wafting through the kitchen door and straight to Dean and John's nostrils. It came as a great relief to both of them when Mary walked back into the dining room, three plates precariously balanced on her arms. No sooner had she set them down that Dean and John dug into the scrumptious dessert. The pie was perfect, the apples crisp and the sauce not too sweet. The crust was a golden brown, and seemed to glisten, as if glazed with honey. Yes, this here was a masterpiece.
Before too long, it was time for the boys to go to bed, and they found themselves being scooped up by their parents and carried upstairs. The steps creaked as the four made their way up, but the rest of the house was silent. All was quiet and still, creating a sense of peace and tranquility. Mary and John were relaxed. After John set an already sleeping Sammy in his crib, he crept into the master bedroom, lying down and drawing the covers over him as he waited for Mary to put Dean to sleep.
In Dean's bedroom, Mary was laying a droopy-eyed Dean onto his own bed. Kneeling next to him, she smiled softly as she stroked his hair. Green eyes shining like emeralds in the darkness of the room, Dean murmured, "Sing to me?" just like he did every night. Mary began to sing, her voice low and sweet, like an angel coaxing souls up to heaven.
"Hey Jude, don't make it bad.
Take a sad song and make it better.
Remember to let her into your heart,
Then you can start to make it better.
Hey Jude, don't be afraid.
You were made to go out and get her.
The minute you let her under your skin,
Then you begin to make it better.
And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain,
Don't carry the world upon your shoulders.
For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool
By making his world a little colder.
Hey Jude, don't let me down.
You have found her, now go and get her.
Remember to let her into your heart,
Then you can start to make it better.
So let it out and let it in, hey Jude, begin,
You're waiting for someone to perform with.
And don't you know that it's just you, hey Jude, you'll do,
The movement you need is on your shoulder.
Hey Jude, don't make it bad.
Take a sad song and make it better.
Remember to let her under your skin,
Then you'll begin to make it
Better better better better better better, oh.
Na na na na na na na, na na na na, hey Jude..."
Slowly, Dean's eyes drifted shut, his breathing slowing as Mary continued to stroke his hair. After a few minutes, she stood up and slowly walked toward the open door. As she was leaving, she turned and whispered her customary "Angels are watching you." As she turned to exit, she stopped and looked back at her sleeping son. "Remember, Mommy loves you," she said, her voice suddenly serious, before finally taking her leave and joining her husband in their bedroom.
Just a few hours later found the cozy house up in flames, a panicking John thrusting Sammy wailing into Dean's shaking arms. "Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don't look back! Now, Dean, go!" John ordered, the first of a long list of commands he would issue to his sons. Dean didn't think. He just ran, clutching the precious bundle entrusted to him tight to his chest as he rushed them both to safety. Once outside, he stared at the raging inferno that was once his home. Sammy was still crying, and Dean started to rock him, whispering "It's okay, Sammy." He tried to sound reassuring, the way his mother did when he was hurt, but the words came out slightly broken. He barely registered his father scooping him and Sammy up, saying "I gotcha," while carrying them away from the house as fire exploded out of Sammy's nursery window.
After that, burgers and pie, especially apple pie, became a staple for Dean; it was his own little way of remembering what he had lost.