Chapter Two: The Park

It was a bright, clear, beautiful day late summer afternoon, and the park was bustling with activity. The green-tinged lake was a host to several remote-controlled hydroplanes, paddle boats, fishermen, and ducks fighting over bread crumbs. The cement perimeter of the lake was populated by walkers, joggers, rollerskaters, young couples pushing strollers, vendors, and, to Sammy's delight, dog walkers.

John walked the concrete strip around the lake with Sammy tottering along beside him, holding his hand. The little boy was relatively content considering the mild traumas he had been through that day, with a gleeful smile plastered across his face from John telling him that they would soon be picking up Dean.

A woman with a Jack Russell terrier straining at his leash walked towards them. Sammy stopped dead in his tracks. "Doggy!" he waved. The terrier sniffed the air hopefully, trying with all his might to reach Sammy, who let go of John's hand to meet the dog halfway. Sammy extended his hand, reaching for the dog's wriggling nose.

"Sammy," John reprimanded sharply, "What did I tell you about touching dogs without the owner's permission?"

"Oh, it's fine!" said the woman holding the leash, "Max is a sweetheart. He's never bitten anyone, and he's great with kids."

"I can pet him?" Sammy asked, looking up at his Dad pleadingly.

"Sure, buddy," said John, exchanging a small smile with the dog's owner. Max looked positively harmless compared to some of the dogs he had researched; it didn't have glowing red eyes, for one thing.

Sammy cupped the dog's head in both his hands, touching his nose to the dog's cold, wet one. The terrier licked Sammy's cheek, causing him to break into a fit of giggles. He rubbed his hand along the dog's head and down its back, stroking the short, coarse hair. The dog panted happily, wagging its short tail. "He likes me, Daddy!" the dog reared up on its hind legs, wrapped its front paws around Sammy's middle, and began to make thrusting, gyrating motions against Sammy's leg. "Look, he's playing with me!"

"He sure is," said John, grimacing in disgust. He was barely restraining himself from ripping the dog off Sammy by its collar and give it a good punt for violating his son, but luckily his owner was quick on the draw.

"Max, no!" the woman reprimanded, tugging on Max's collar and yanking him off Sammy, giving him a sharp tap on the snout. "I'm so sorry about that. You know dogs—anything that holds still long enough..."

"Well, we'd better keep moving," said John, gripping Sammy's hand again, inclining his head towards the woman. "Have a good day, Ma'am...Max," he said, fixing the small canine with a glower of ill-contempt that made him cower and whine.

John took off briskly with Sammy in tow without a backward glance. "I wanna play with the doggy!" Sammy whined, looking over his shoulder.

"No, Sammy. You are done playing with Max," said John firmly. "We're going to keep walking."

Sammy huffed, rooting his feet stubbornly in the ground, refusing to take another step. He twisted away from John and ran to a green-painted park bench, laying his head across the seat despairingly. John was exhausted and decided to take a rest on the bench beside Sammy instead of trying to enforce his will over the stubborn two-year-old. He sat and people-watched while he let Sammy have his sulk.

A moment later, Sammy wailed, "Stuck!"

"What?" John turned to look down at Sammy, who somehow seemed to be struggling to raise his head from the bench. When he did, he saw a long thin, goopey strand of pink extending from the park seat to Sammy's bangs. "Sticky," Sammy complained, fisting his hair. "Ewwww!"

"Oh, Sammy, baby...it's just not your day, is it?" John sighed warily, picking Sammy up and setting him on his lap to survey the damage. "Don't rub it in, kiddo, you'll make it worse," said John, gently prising Sammy's hands away from his hair. "Who the hell leaves gum on a park bench?" John shouted accusingly to a trio of passing teenagers, as if they were the culprits. What better things did they have to do when they were clearly skipping school?

Grimacing, John separated the clump of downy hair embedded in pink bubblegum. He tried to work out the sticky substance with his fingers, with Sammy wincing and whining as he unintentionally pulled some of his hair out in the process. "No! Stop!" Sammy cried, shielding his forehead with both hands. "Hurts!"

"We've got to get it out, Sammy," said John calmly. It was more gum than hair now. He sat Sammy on the bench beside him. "Close your eyes, tiger. I'll have the gum out before you know it." Lip quivering, Sammy shut his eyes tight, covering them with his hands. John pulled a switch blade from his belt and hacked off the offending chunk of gummied hair, replacing the knife in its holder. He tousled the front of Sammy's bangs, hoping to make the gap less noticeable. "There. All gone."

Sammy explored his bangs, smiling in relief. "All gone," he agreed. Able to change channels quicker than a TV remote (or stubbornly dwell on a station as his mood suited him), Sammy's mouth suddenly went round, pointing at something in front of them. "Duck!"

"It sure is," said John, grateful for the distraction to keep Sammy from dwelling on his bad haircut. He watched with Sammy as the white duck with the orange bill wandered up to the bench, looking at them expectantly. "I think it wants us to feed him, Sammy."

"We have food for him?" the little boy inquired.

"Let's see." John reached into a side pocket of his bag, where he kept snacks for the boys, as at least one of his kids was always hungry at any given time. He produced a packet of peanut butter crackers, ripped open the plastic and handed one to Sammy. "Here, break off pieces for him." The toddler took a bite of the cracker before delightedly crumbling the rest up in his fists and dropping all the pieces on the ground. The duck dived forward eagerly, gobbling up the cracker crumbs.

"He likes it!" Sammy exclaimed happily, smiling up at John. As Sammy was crumbling another cracker in his fist, a bicyclist rode past them, startling the duck and sending it flapping off, quacking indignantly. Sammy hopped down from the bench and chased after the waddling duck, throwing crumbs at it, which bounced off its sleek, waterproof back. "Come back, ducky!"

John was already on his feet and easily overtaking the boy when he saw Sammy trip over a fallen tree branch and come crashing down, hard.

"Sammy!" John was at Sammy's side in an instant, scooping the stunned boy up into his arms. Sammy's palms, knees, and chin were all scratched up from the concrete. John held the boy close as he cried again, the road rash stinging fiercely.

"It's just not your day, is it, kiddo?" said John, rocking Sammy back and forth gently. He carried his child back over to the bench, where he cleaned the bits of rock and dirt from Sammy's scrapes, putting bandages on over the burns. John tucked Sammy's head under his chin and clutched his sobbing child, mentally counting all the mishaps and minor accidents Sammy had experienced that day, all of which he had been helpless to prevent. There was nothing John hated more than feeling like he couldn't protect his children from harm, whether it was from supernatural beings or road burns. He had sworn to Dean that he would look out for Sammy; that he wouldn't let anything hurt him. And so far, he was failing miserably. His stomach twisted with guilt. Sammy never seemed this accident-prone when Dean was around...

"Shhh," John whispered soothingly into Sammy's ear, as he began to cry himself out, fists still grabbing handfuls of John's t-shirt, which he was using to dry his tears with. "Let's get out of here, buddy. We've got to go to the grocery store, and then we're going to get Dean."

"Dean?" Sammy sniffled hopefully. Despite all the minor tragedies Sammy had endured that morning, he smiled at the thought of reuniting with his big brother.

"Yep. I'll bet he's gonna be real happy to see you, Sammy," said John standing and lifting Sammy to his shoulders, sparing the boy from having to walk with his poor, scraped knees. He gripped Sammy around his ankles, feeling his fingers tangle in his hair to hold on. As John was making his way up the rolling hill to the parking lot, the grass brown, dead, and crunchy underfoot from the summer heat, he heard a THUNK above his head, followed by a yelp from Sammy.

A split second later, he saw an orange frisbee fall down near his feet. John grit his teeth. "You have GOT to be kidding me!" Sammy began howling. John lowered the boy off his shoulders, looking imploringly into his eyes. "Where'd you get hit?" Sammy's shaking hand went to the back of his head, touching it gingerly as he bawled into his father's shoulder, clinging to his t-shirt. John examined the bump that was already forming and swore under his breath, looking around for something to kill—ideally, the culprit.

"Dude!" a college-aged kid with a careless trust fund smirk called and waved, stopping about ten yards away from them. "Hey, Pops, can we have our frisbee back?"

John cast a murderous glance at the unapologetic jackass in the football letterman's jacket who couldn't even bother to warn someone when they were in the line of fire. He bent down to retrieve the frisbee. "No, you can't," with an easy flick of his wrist, the frisbee soared up and away, landing a ways out into the lake. "You just hit my kid. What you can do is get out of here before I kick your ass."

The jock's pride wouldn't allow him to back down so easily and risk losing face in front of his frat brothers. He unwisely advanced towards the hunter, who lifted up the hem of his jacket just enough to show he was packing. The kid stopped in his tracks, realizing that John Winchester was most definitely not a man to be trifled with. He put up his hands, backing away slowly. "Okay, dude. Just chill."

John glowered until the kid went back and rejoined his frat brothers, and saw several dirty looks shot at him, but he really couldn't care less. He still had half a mind to go over there and beat the kid to a bloody pulp on principle, but Sammy's cries of misery pushed his vengeful thoughts to the back of his head.

"You alright, Sammy?" John asked anxiously, brushing Sammy's uneven bangs back from his eyes, pressing a kiss onto his forehead. "I'm so sorry, little man. This was supposed to be fun..."

"W-w-want D-Dean!" Sammy said between shuddering gasps.

"I know, pal." He rubbed Sammy's back. "It's almost time to get Dean. Let's get out of here."

Sammy was a disaster-magnet today, and John couldn't wait to end their ill-fated trip to the park. He cast one last glance to where the frat boys had been hanging out, and saw they were gone. Maybe those punks weren't so stupid after all.

They reached the parking lot, where the sun was beating down, baking the black asphalt and scorching the air. John could feel his t-shirt sticking to his back, a mist of sweat accumulated above his lip and on his brow. Whether Sammy's face was pink from the heat, crying, or both, it was impossible to tell. Needless to say, the ice cream van strategically parked near the dual entrance/exit was a welcome sight, and the perfect way to both cheer Sammy up and cool him down.

John bought a waffle cone with a scoop of Rocky Road for himself, and a scoop of blue bubblegum for Sammy (pink bubblegum was out of the question after the day's events.)

"Here you go, buddy," said John, carefully handing Sammy his cone. John carried Sammy to the Impala as the little boy happily licked his ice cream, staining half his face blue. Just as they reached the car, Sammy's ice cream was rapidly losing its viscosity in the summer sun, and a vigorous thrust from his tongue sent the whole scoop slipping over the edge of the cone, where it slid down Sammy's t-shirt and John's forearm before going splat on the hot sidewalk. Several passing ants instantly swarmed on the melting, sticky blue mess. This tragedy seemed greatest of all to Sammy, who let out such a crestfallen, mournful cry that sounded like it was wrenched from the depths of his soul.

John's heart broke for Sammy; Sammy just didn't seem to be able to catch a break today, taking one hit after another. It was like the very universe was conspiring against him to make sure his baby boy had a bad day. Had his son somehow done something terrible enough to evoke this much negative karma? If he hadn't been watching Sammy all day, he would have assumed the kid had broken a mirror and tried to hide it, or had a hex bag planted on him, or that somewhere a voodoo priestess had made a doll of his likeness. Or maybe he had never realized just how much of a role Dean played in looking out for Sammy. John felt like he was being attentive and watchful with the boy, and accidents just kept on happening regardless.

John consoled Sammy by offering him his own ice cream cone.

Sammy looked at John uncertainly through tear-filled eyes. "It's all yours, kiddo," said John, smiling; the insignificant sacrifice was really the least he could do after the hellish day the toddler was having.

John sank down to sit on the curb, allowing Sammy to finish his treat outside; there was no way he was going to let the rapidly melting treat stain the Impala's upholstery. John held Sammy and the ice cream cone, as Sammy happily licked the melting mound, only pausing to hold his head and wait for a brain freeze or two to pass.

When Sammy was done munching on the waffle cone, John shifted Sammy's car seat out of the way and put down a towel across the backseat before laying the sticky toddler across it. He crawled into the backseat of the stifling hot car beside Sammy, and set about the arduous task of getting his son cleaned up while the boy licked the last remnants of the Rocky Road ice cream from his fingers. Midway through changing Sammy, John reached into his bag for a fresh diaper and a change of clothes for the boy and found that they were missing and replaced with Sammy's favorite toys. It seemed Sammy had taken things from John's bag, after all—but nothing that wasn't already technically his.

"Sammy," John said, holding up a plastic action figure of Optimus Prime. "Did you take all your clothes and diapers out of my bag to make room for your toys again?"

Sammy's sheepish smile was enough of a response for John, as he took his fingers out of his mouth to reach out for his toy. Despite being cross at the boy for the switch he had made, John relented and handed Sammy his favorite toy, knowing he was in a fragile and delicate state and not keen for the waterworks to start up again so soon.

"No clean clothes, no diapers, no time to run home before we get Dean," said John, pulling Sammy's shorts back up from around his ankles, not about to put a dirty diaper back on the boy. "Looks like you're out of luck, bud. Until we get to the store and pick up some more Huggies, I guess you're going commando, kiddo." He strapped Sammy into his car seat. "If you feel like you've gotta go, I need you to be a big boy and hold it till we get you some more diapers, okay?"

"Okay," Sammy agreed as John used a few baby wipes (thankfully spared from Sammy's purging of all things useful in his bag) to wipe up the worst of the sticky blue mess on Sammy's hands, face, and shirt front.

John gathered up the blue-stained baby wipes, dirty diaper, and other trash accumulated by the boys from the back seat and tossed them into a garbage can a few feet away from the car. He got into the driver's seat, checking his watch before starting the car. Despite parking in the shade, the car was like an oven and he blasted the air conditioning. He slid his arms out of his jacket and turned in his seat to look at Sammy, who currently looked content despite all the mishaps he had had that day. Or maybe he had just run out of tears.

"We've only got forty minutes till we have to get Dean and we still have to go to the store. Think we can do it, buddy?"

"Yeah!" Sammy exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air.

"I think so, too," John chuckled, putting the car in drive and pulling out of the parking lot.

TBC

...

AN: Didn't I say the Sammy mishaps would increase? They only get worse...

I hope you all like PapaWolf!John-I know I do! :D

Seriously, that frat boy got off easy...

I felt bad for John writing this chapter (even worse for Sammy, of course!) All of these little accidents happening to Sammy, not being able to act quick enough to protect him because they all happen in the blink of an eye-I think it's probably one of John's worst nightmares feeling so helpless to protect his kids. But if you like Hurt/Comfort fics, then you've come to the right place!

I usually don't post fics before they're done. I'm still working on the next chapter :) if you want it done faster, I like motivation...I think the review box is below here somewhere...