Author's note: Here's a quick update. I felt it was unfair to post the first chapter, a build up, and not have the second part. But I had part one written last week and I couldn't resist posting it last night. Thank you for all the great reviews so far and I hope you enjoy.
To Avoid Confusion: The first section is what is on the tape, the second is back to the present, and the third is one of Dean's personal memories.
The Winchesters in Technicolor
Part 2
Last time: Sam was about to eject the tape when the sound came on and a picture flipped and fuzzed into view.
Both boys' eyes were immediately glued to the screen.
--
January 24, 1983
"John, is it working?" Mary Winchester's sweet voice was heard through the television as the picture flickered in and out. "The red light isn't on."
"Hold on." John's voice sounded so young and full of good humor. Finally the room came into focus, the living room of their house in Lawrence where everything began.
Mary was out of view but the camera was aimed at the couch in the center of the room while someone was shaking and adjusting it. The blue country couch with white flowers seated a fidgety little boy whose short legs were swinging back and forth. His hair was messy and blond and he looked like he wanted to wiggle out of his own skin just so he could get up and jump around. His light green eyes sparkled as he settled on picking some loose thread on the couch.
"Alright, we're rolling. Say hi to the camera, Dean." John went around the camcorder to sit next to his son.
The little boy looked up and smiled shyly. "Hye."
"Okay, Buddy. Now say something smart." He grinned and ruffled Dean's long hair.
"John!" Mary called indignantly from behind the camera.
"Uh uh, Mary. You can only talk when you're in the picture."
"Fat chance of that happening. I don't look good at all today." Her tone turned gentler. "You want to count, Dean? Show everyone how you count."
John grinned and stretched, pulling Dean onto his lap. "Can you count to 20, Birthday Boy?"
The little boy smirked, biting his lip and then shook his head. "Yes you can, you big faker." The father started tickling his son mercilessly and Mary finally appeared. Her long hair was loose; she was wearing a pair of jeans and a thick wool sweater, only just starting to show underneath it.
"Stop teasing him, honey." She sat next to her husband and gave her baby a big messy kiss on the cheek. "We'll send this to Granpa if you can count to twenty. Then we can play it back to Sammy, too. Can you count for Sammy?"
The boy's stopped giggling and his face lit up when Mary placed his chubby hand on her stomach. " 'Kay." He seemed to think for a second before leaning in close to Mary as if whispering just for Sam to hear. "One, Two…. Th'ee. Fo'wa, Five, Si'ss, Seven, Eigh', Nine, Twenty!"
Mary smiled indulgently and the couple laughed, a perfect family. "No cheating, baby. Teeen…" She started him off again with a poke in the stomach. "You know you're gonna need a hair cut soon. Or we won't be able to see those pretty eyes." She said teasingly.
John piped up and messed with little Dean's hair again. "Just as long as you don't do that god-awful bowl cut again, Mare. Kid looked like a monk for months."
Mary playfully swatted at him as Dean continued to count, happily skipping numbers.
--
Sam was enraptured. His brother didn't look back so he didn't see the pained look on Dean's face, the latter's beer held loosely in his hand, forgotten. "And you make fun of my hair, Dean." He could hear the smile in Sam's voice.
This is… making him really happy, huh?
"Well we really can't see your eyes. And you kind of need them, Sam, if you're gonna look out for my ass." Dean was starting to remember that their father never really got around to taking them to do things like get their hair cut very often.
That thought brought an unbidden memory to his mind. It was a welcome distraction from watching his dead parents in short term family bliss.
--
Dean was around seven years old when he decided Sam needed a haircut. It was one of the first times their Dad left them by themselves at a hotel room for an extended period of time. Since Dean was school aged then, he had to stay home to take care of Sammy and was left a very bored energetic kid as a result.
That was when disaster was born.
"You need a haircut."
Sam looked up, swiping his hair from his eyes for the hundredth time while scribbling on one of Dean's coloring books. "No I not."
"Yeah ya do, Sammy. You can't see. How are you going to become a famous artist and color in the lines then?"
Sam just looked at his brother in confusion until he got out the scissors. "Dee'?" His voice held a hint of nervousness although Sammy had granted Dean unconditional trust and love since he was a baby in return for Dean's vigilant and protective nature.
"Don't worry. I'll do it good. Just sit still." Dean scootched behind his little brother and carefully began to cut.
Sam obediently sat still, biting his lip and trying not to wriggle as snippets of hair fell all over the coloring book. He was being very patient until Dean accidentally cut him on the ear.
"mn-" He whimpered and Dean dropped the scissors when he saw the tiny cut they left. "You okay Sammy? M'sorry." He turned Sam around, face filled with remorse but there was no way he could stop the tears that were welling up in his baby brother's eyes.
It started out quietly and gained in volume until Sam was wailing, fat tears rolling down his face. "Please don't, Sam. I didn't mean it." He impulsively pulled his little brother up into his lap and hugged him. "I barely grazed you, right?"
"Hu't me..." Sammy just buried his head in his brother's shoulder with a small sob and a shake. "No more, Dee'." He pulled back a little and his large lower lip quivered. " 'kay?"
Dean wiped his brother's tears away with his own sleeve once the crisis was over. "I'd never hurt you Sammy, I won't cut yer hair ever again. Promise."
Sam sniffled again. "m-hm. C'we play airplane now?" His eyes were still a little red rimmed but dry and Dean couldn't help wondering if that was Sammy's game all along.
He lifted his brother as high as he could with his own skinny frame and swung him around, his little brother's mauled hair ruffling in the man-made breeze.
Who knew how manipulative this innocent, wide eyed kid would become in the future when it came to Dean? Maybe it all started then.
--
Dean started from his thoughts when the clip ended. The tape turned to snow with the loud buzzing that came along with it. He almost felt relieved when an old war movie came on.
Sam groaned. "Dad and his war movies. I hope he didn't tape over anything."
"What would it matter if he did? You got to see something. The past shouldn't matter anyway." Dean chugged his warming beer and grabbed another. "Why do you want to look back so much?"
"Because it matters to me." Sam's eyes hit Dean's and even though he shouldn't have, Dean felt that same guilt as when he had accidentally cut his brother. It was a wounded look and he couldn't stand it.
Luckily, or unluckily, the war movie fuzzed out to show a dim room on the screen. Shadows were moving around slowly before a dim light flicked on revealing the pale white walls of a hospital and the muffled agitated sounds of an infant…
