Back by popular demand...

That's right, the little plot bunny came back and wouldn't leave me alone until I finished the story right. So far, it's looking like it's gonna be a three-shot, but that might change. Enjoy!

Same format as ch. 1: flashbacks followed by present day. Please review!

Ch. 2

The Cabin

Dean liked the cabin. He'd always liked the cabin, and figured that he always would, even though going to the cabin only meant one thing. Daddy was hurt.

It wasn't their cabin, it was Pastor Jim's. Jim never really strayed far from the church anymore, though ,and he'd offered to let the Winchesters use it when they needed someplace safe to stay. It was rustic, protected from evil, and had a warm feeling about it.

When the family was at Jim's cabin, it seemed like they were actually a family again. They were together, and happy, and safe. That was the main reason Dean liked it, because they could be a real family when they were there.

This time wasn't any different. John had been hurt while working a job, and had driven his boys the short distance to the old wooden home in record time. He said it hadn't been as bad as it could have, but Dean saw the blood. He knew that if daddy didn't slow down on his quest for vengeance, he might end up dying.

Of course, he never said anything about it. Bad kids asked too many questions, and good kids knew their places. Dean wanted to be a good kid, so he kept his mouth shut until he was spoken to.

It hadn't taken John long to recover after the black dog had nearly torn his arm off. In fact, they hadn't even been there a week before the hunter was out of bed and walking around. He'd taken one look at the little pond that sat behind the house and decided it was time he taught his boys to swim.

Dean had known he could learn fast, earn that 'extra cookie' of gratitude and parental pride he'd sought ever since the fire. After all, Sammy could barely talk, let alone hold his head above the waves for more than a few seconds.

But learning to swim had been harder than he'd thought, and although Sammy was worse at it, Dean wasn't much better. He'd seen the way his dad had looked at him when he'd started to sink and panicked. He'd seen the disdain and disappointment.

It hadn't taken the seven-year-old long to figure out what he had to do to make his dad proud of him. He snuck out of the house every night after dark to practice swimming in the shallows. It had taken time and effort, and he'd gotten into the nasty habit of falling asleep in the middle of dad's lessons about myths and legends, but, eventually, Dean had gotten better.

It hadn't taken dad too long to see the improvement his oldest son was making. He'd given the boy a nod and informed him that he'd finally mastered the basics, and that lessons would be held off for a while so Sammy could get the attention he needed.

So, Dean stared out the window at the pond, his arms elbow-deep in sudsy water as he cleaned up the breakfast dishes. Outside, dad and Sammy splashed around in the water as the younger boy struggled to keep his head up. Sam dunked his father, and dad came up laughing, spitting water like a fountain.

Dean scrubbed a little harder at the plate in his hands, bitter jealousy burning within his little body, warmth rising behind his eyes, threatening to break out.

But he didn't cry. Daddy had told him that soldiers don't cry, and Dean was a soldier now.

He didn't really want to be a soldier, though. He wanted his daddy to love him again, to tell him he'd done something right, instead of just giving him a weird look and barking another order. Most of all, though, Dean didn't want to be alone in the kitchen. He wanted to be with his family out in the pond, laughing and playing and having fun.

He wanted his dad to be proud of him. He wanted to be a good soldier. So he decided to keep his secret wants to himself and clean the dishes.

Maybe if he did a good enough job of scrubbing eggs from the plates, daddy would be proud.

1 Year Later

Glassy eyes watched his every move as eight-year-old fingers pulled needle and thread through skin. The brown eyes never left Dean's work, even after the boy had finished stitching the wound.

"Good?" Dean asked, searching his father's face for signs of approval.

"Wrap it up," the older man instructed, his voice flat, eyes uncaring.

"Yes, sir," Dean nodded. He turned to his little brother, who'd been sitting in the doorway since they'd arrived at the cabin and John had ordered his oldest son to practice his first aid. "Go get some water, Sammy," he instructed, "dad needs something to drink."

Sam nodded and ran to the kitchen as his brother grabbed the gauze Jim kept under the sink in the old cabin's single bathroom. He began wrapping it around his father's bruised, bloody, and sewn-up arm, just the way he'd been taught.

John laid his head back on the pillow and grimaced. "Damned wendigo," he sighed, "thing nearly ripped my hand off."

"Yeah, it did," Dean agreed softly, gazing around the room as he finished dressing the wound. He was finally starting to realize that going to the cabin wasn't a good thing, even if it meant they were all together. They only went when dad was hurt bad.

The older man nodded slowly. "I got lucky." He smiled. "Hey, remember last year? When I taught you boys to swim?"

"Yeah."

"Your brother's so good at it now. I never thought he'd get the hang of it."

Dean sighed, packing up the first aid kit. He'd been a little surprised that Sammy had gotten the hang of it, too, given all the time he'd wasted splashing and dunking their father.

Soft footsteps echoed down the hall and Sam entered the room, clutching a glass of water in his little hands.

"'Bout time, kiddo," Dean grinned as his brother handed the cup to their father. The older boy started toward the door, first aid kit in hand. That was when he heard it.

"Good boy, Sammy."

2 Years Later

Dean hated them. He hated them all.

He also wanted to be them.

"Dean," Sammy whined, pulling on his brother's wrist as they crossed the street, heading toward their new school, "how come dad doesn't drop us off or pick us up?"

The older boy shrugged, gazing enviously at the van parked in front of the big brick building as a young woman sent her gaggle of kids in with a kiss and a declaration of love. "You've got me. What's the matter, not good enough for you?"

Sammy shook his head. "No. You're good enough for me. It's just…. Other kids' parents drop them off."

"Yeah, well, other kids' parents don't save people like dad does."

"Jimmy's dad's a firefighter. He saves lives and he drops Jimmy off at school."

"Really? You know, our dad could kick Jimmy's dad's ass."

Sam sighed and looked down at his feet. "Daddy doesn't love us."

Dean stopped in his tracks, dropping onto his knees in front of the school and placing both hands on his little brother's shoulders. "Don't say that. Dad loves you. He loves you more than you'll ever know."

Sammy cocked his head to one side in a perfect imitation of a confused puppy. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You only said daddy loves me. Doesn't he love you?"

Dean dropped his gaze as the shrill ringing of the school bell filled the parking lot. "Go to class, kiddo," he said quietly, "I'll be waiting right here for you at three."

He turned Sam around and gave him a little shove toward the school. The younger boy didn't need to know the answer to his question, never had to find out.

Dad liked Sam better. He'd proven it a couple of years before, when he'd gotten home early from a hunt and decided to surprise his sons by picking them up from school. For some reason, though, he'd neglected to wait for Dean, who'd been trying to explain another failing grade to his math teacher.

18 Years Later

Sam stared at his feet as he leaned up against the school's brick wall. Inside the building, he could hear the final bell ringing, the sound of happy children rushing out to meet their parents. He was starting to get used to it.

He'd been able to come up with rent for the month, thanks to some help from Missouri, and was fairly close to finding a steady job. He'd thought about moving to a better town, but Dean seemed to like it here. The kid had made friends. Sam couldn't remember him ever having friends.

A sea of children burst through the door and Sam straightened up, even though he would be pretty hard to miss. Dean came running up to him, smiling widely and clutching a piece of paper in one small hand.

"How was school?" Sammy asked, taking the boy's free hand and leading him off to the Impala.

"I passed another test," Dean smiled, shoving the paper up toward his brother.

Sam shook his head. "Tests in kindergarten. What'll they come up with next?"

"We got a new janitor, too," Dean said slowly, happiness fading from his face as his brother unlocked the car doors.

"Oh, really? Is he nice?"

Dean slid into the car and turned wide, scared eyes on his brother. In that single moment he seemed to age well past childhood. "It's dad," he whispered, his voice shaking a bit, "it's dad."

"You're positive?" Sam asked again, shoving his things haphazardly into a duffle bag.

"Dude, I know my own father," Dean shot back, picking through the few belongings he had, choosing which to keep and which to leave behind.

"Ok, so he found us. Are you sure he won't follow us?"

"I told you," Dean explained, tossing his backpack onto the floor beside his brother's things, "the cabin's up in rural Montana. We drive through the night, ditch the Impala in some motel parking lot, and snatch another car to take us the rest of the way. I'm pretty sure dad doesn't even remember the place."

Sam spun on his heels to face the little boy that hadn't been a little boy since 3:00. "You're kidding, right? You wanna ditch your car?"

Dean shrugged. "Not like I can drive it."

"But-"

"Look, just finish packing up and let's hit the road. It won't take him long to find us." The boy headed into the kitchen to raid the fridge, packing up some food for the trip, as Sam stared after him.

The older man turned back to his bag. "Man, dad," he whispered, "he's really scared of you, isn't he?"

The blue car pulled up outside the rustic cabin three days later. It had been three days of running, three days of looking over their shoulders, three days of Sam thinking that he heard choked sobs coming from his brother's bed late into the night.

But they'd made it. They were finally here. Sammy noticed the way Dean's eyes lit up when he saw the place, saw the spark of recognition and the small, almost hidden smile.

"You know," he said as he tossed bags out of the trunk of the stolen car and onto the dusty ground, "I don't remember this place. We come here often?"

Dean nodded, looking over the house, a sad smile on his young face. "We came here a lot when we were younger. It was Jim's, and he let us use it when dad got hurt. It's protected and stuff, blessed, you know."

Sam shouldered a bag and led his brother up to the front porch. "Lots of memories?"

"Dad taught us to swim here. He taught me first aid here. We spent a lot of time together here."

"And you think he doesn't remember it?"

Dean shrugged, flipping up the welcome mat and fishing out the key from beneath it. "He just doesn't seem the type."

The older man nodded and followed the boy into the old house, gazing around the small entry as a flood of memories came back to him. He could remember his father spending hours in the lake with him, teaching him to tread water and backstroke while Dean sat inside the cabin brushing up on his Latin or making dinner. He could remember watching his brother's first real attempt at first aid, could remember the way John hadn't given any feedback, just kid of shrugged him off.

Dean dropped his bag and spun around, little feet kicking up dust. "Hey," he said excitedly, that childlike innocence back in his eyes for the first time since he'd seen the school's new janitor, "you wanna go swimming with me?"

Sam couldn't help but smile as he dropped his own bags and nodded in reply. "Sure thing, kiddo. Let me get my suit."

It didn't take long for both brothers to get dressed and head out the back door toward the pond. Neither of them noticed the beat-up old truck pull into the driveway in front of the cabin.