I Call Him Sammy
Summary: Alternative Universe. Mild slash. Also some dates and events are altered.
Sammy.
It was winter 1993, a particularly tough winter for the Harvelle family. Sam's dad had been on a hunt for about four months and the 10 year old was getting anxious. The Roadhouse was quiet with only a few lingering guests. It was always quiet this close to Christmas. Hunters that had families were making their way home and those who didn't continued to do what they do best, hunt. Sam sat silently on a bar stool staring at the door. He often did it when he father was away. He wanted to be the first to see him return home. His attention tonight was distracted by the man and child sitting at the table nearest the doorway. Well, he was a child this kid was probably around 13 or 14. It was strange to see a hunter bringing their kid along. In fact he'd never seen a hunter with a child. Sam let out a gasp as strong arms came from behind him and picked him up off the stool. He wiggled his way around to put his arms around his father's neck.
"Daddy!"
Sam was a shy child except when he got to see his father. He could care less what anyone thought of him. He pulled away from the hug and looked at his father. He looked tired but still wore a smile. Sam reached his hand to his father to trace a deep cut that was already scabbing.
"Dad, you're hurt. "
"It's nothing, Sammy."
His father chased away all his fears by tickling him.
"Dad stop!" Sam yelled, crying with laughter.
"What all this ruckus about?"
Sam felt his smile grow even more when he heard his mother enter the room. He and his father didn't speak a word. They stood there staring at Ellen, letting her take in the sight of her husband.
"William." She sighed under her breath. The quiet and reserved woman ran to her husband throwing herself in his arms. She was crying, why Sam didn't know.
"Ellen, it's alright dearest. I'm safe." His father reassured her. "I'm home."
Ten year old Sam wouldn't learn the details of that hunt of any other for at least another twelve years. He didn't know his father had been hunting a demon and barely made it out alive. The next couple of days continued to be quiet. While his mother and father were spending time together Sam got to watch the bar at night. Most of the hunters here, he knew by name. All accept the father and son duo. Sam badly wanted to talk to the teenage hunter. Wanted to know what life was for him. Maybe he understood the constant worry and fear that Sam had every time his father left. Sam wouldn't have to wait long. That night the father left his son with only a few quick words. After a couple of hours of sitting all alone the teenager made his way to the bar.
"Hey, kid." He said with a cocky grin painted on his face.
"My name isn't kid." Sam replied.
"My mistake."
They sat in silence as Sam cleaned out dirty glasses till Sam finally gave in.
"My name is Sam. Sam Harvelle." He offered.
The teenager continued to smile smugly, "Sammy, huh? Cute name."
Sam felt a blush creep up his cheeks that felt like anger. No one called him Sammy but his father. He was only trying to be nice to the son of a hunter; he didn't plan on getting made fun of. So Sam continued washing hoping the teenager would give his name or get the hell away.
"Dean." He finally replied. "Dean Winchester."
"Dean." Sam felt himself whisper quietly but not obvious not quietly enough because Dean piped up with a smart ass, "Yes?"
"Nothing." Sam muttered as he started wiping down the bar. The two sat in an awkward silence as one by one each hunter left. Sam could see the impatience and worry written on Dean's face. He had to admit to a normal person he looked blank but Sam could tell he was thinking of his father.
"Sam."
Sam turned around to see his mother entering the front door and locking it up.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Dean's father called. He'll be spending the night with us."
Sam looked at Dean just in time to catch a moment of anger and disappointment in his soft green eyes. Sam nodded and hopped off the bar stool he was sitting on.
"Follow me." He ordered.
Dean slouched in defeat and picked up his bag. They left the bar with Ellen and made their way down a dirt road which led to a beautiful cottage. The small house couldn't be more than two or three rooms. Once inside Sam sighed at the warm feeling of his tiny home. With a mother and a father he couldn't ask for more than the life he had.
"Nice place." He heard Dean muttered.
"Thanks." Sam replied. His home was nice or at least he thought so.
He led Dean to his room. The teenager was exhausted; Sam noticed he couldn't even walk completely straight.
"You can have my bed." Sam offered gently.
Dean simply nodded and without protest collapsed onto the small twin bed. As Sam quietly set up his makeshift bed he thought about waking the boy. Someone always looked under his bed before he went to sleep. His father or mother did it every night. Since he first understood that ghosts and things that go bump in the night were real, he had someone check.
"Dean."
The boy was not only asleep but snoring…loudly. Sam sighed and decided to check himself. He'd never get any sleep if he didn't. He reluctantly got on his knees and started to bend down. His hands touched the floor as he looked under. He only had time to do one thing, scream.
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