Dean allowed himself a well-deserved lie-in. The boys both had an early night after their visit into town, but the next day they'd stayed up late watching TV not suitable for children their age. Neither had got much sleep, particularly Sam, who'd been freaked out greatly over the horror movie Dean had put on. The screams and various terrifying sound effects had prevented Sam sleeping while Dean watched it in amusement. The six year old wasn't as generous to himself as his brother. Since six in the morning he'd positioned himself by the window, listening out for the familiar rumble of the Impala that never failed to put a smile on his face. John said he should be back today, all going well, and Sam always watched out for him on his alleged return date. It annoyed the crap out of Dean, who got jumpy and nervous from Sam's silent waiting.
It was 10am and the younger Winchester hadn't moved, as if worried he'd miss his father's return if he looked away from the window. He fidgeted nervously. The young boy knew they had to check out in an hour's time, and there was no sign of John at all. He'd said he would be back before the three nights were up, and he hadn't come back yet. The eldest Winchester's occasional lateness never failed to scare him.
Sam clambered down from the chair closest to the window and instead climbed into Dean's bed, curling up beside his big brother to at least try to calm down. No matter how worried he was, Dean made him feel safer and far more relaxed. Dean can handle anything, he's the bravest person Sam knew. The six-year-old had faith that his brother could take care of him until John returned, whenever he would.
The disturbance of the perfect stillness in Dean's bed didn't wake him. It wasn't until two little arms wrapped themselves around his own that the eleven-year-old stirred and opened his green eyes sleepily.
"What's your problem?" he mumbled, "Tryin' to sleep."
"Dad isn't back yet, Dean," Sam buried his face in Dean's arm, "What if he got lost?"
"Dad's not stupid like you. He knows how to get back here," Dean rolled his eyes, "Shut up and let me sleep."
"But Dean," Sam whined, "Dad said he'd be back before three nights! It's been three nights now!"
"Maybe he took longer than he expected. What do you expect me to do, call him?" Dean muttered, "He'll be back later, alright? Now let me sleep."
"What if he doesn't come back?" Sam's eyes widened.
"He will. But if he doesn't we got enough money for another night in this place. If he still ain't back we call Uncle Bobby or Pastor Jim. You know that," Dean sat up, giving up on trying to sleep, "Get off me, creep."
He shook his little brother off and got out of bed, pouring the last of the Lucky Charms into the glass for Sam and filling it up with milk before sitting and trying his best not to ignore his brother eating. They'd since run out of food and there was such little money left that Dean feared he'd have to break into the cash for the extra night. There was still lunch and dinner to go. He'd have to go without.
"Why aren't you eating any breakfast, Dean?" Sam had eaten exactly half of his Lucky Charms and milk and once again had milk all around his mouth.
"Not hungry," the older boy shrugged.
"But you gotta eat something. Want the rest of the Lucky Charms and milk?" the six-year old held out his glass with a smile.
"No, no, Sammy. You eat up your breakfast."
"Breakfast is important. Uncle Bobby said so. He said you gotta eat breakfast or your brain won't work properly during the day," Sam seemed genuinely serious as he spoke, "You want your brain to work, right?"
Dean smirked, "You sure you want me to have your Lucky Charms?"
"Yeah, Dean. Its okay, I'm full. I think my brain's gonna work okay today," the youngest Winchester giggled quietly at his humour. Dean couldn't help but join in.
"Your brain always works. You're a little smartass," he grinned, "Smarter than Dad, I bet."
"Really?" Sam's eyes widened, "Am I smarter than Dad?"
"Doubt he started reading at like, three years old or whatever," Dean shrugged, "Have you even seen him read a book?"
Sam pondered this for a moment, "He sometimes has books. Real old ones, remember? Wouldn't let me look at them though."
"Yeah, probably dirty books," the older boy smirked, "Wouldn't want to spoil your tender innocence."
The six-year-old frowned at the remark but didn't dispute it, "Will you have those Lucky Charms now? They'll be mush if you take too long."
The cereal had pretty much disintegrated by the time Dean wolfed it down, but there was a sharp knock at the door that startled both boys. Sam gasped quietly and hid behind the bed, leaving Dean rolling his eyes where he was. He couldn't blame him though. From past experiences knocks on the door weren't always good. Dean and Sam had experienced drunken men attempting to break in, thinking it was their room, angry innkeepers demanding money for an extra night or warning them to keep it down due to noise complaints. Those complaints were often after John's drinking had caused him to pick fault with his boys and punish them, most often Dean, for something not worth punishing. Sam had feared the dreaded knock on the door for many years.
Dean cautiously opened the door to find the innkeeper with a stern look on his face. His frown grew at the sight of the young boy on his own.
"You in here on your own?" his gruff voice sounded painful.
"My Dad went out with my little brother. He was moaning 'cause we ran out of Lucky Charms and demanded he wanted more," Dean shrugged, "He's real picky, my brother."
"Right. Di'n't your Daddy know he gotta check out?" the innkeeper folded his arms.
"Yeah, he did. He left me here so I could tell you we need another night," the older Winchester brother pulled the money from his pocket and handed it to the innkeeper, "That enough?"
The old man counted up the bills and handed $13 back to him, "There ya go, son. Tell yer Dad thanks."
"Will do, sir," Dean gave a friendly smile and shut the door. He breathed a sigh of relief, particularly at the extra $10 he didn't know about. Guess he must have counted it wrong.
"Is he gone?" Sam's voice was a mere squeak from behind the bed.
"Yeah, Sammy. He's gone," he knelt beside his little brother, "Just the innkeeper."
"You paid for an extra night?" the puppy-like eyes stared at Dean, "Is Dad not coming back today?"
Dean gritted his teeth, "I don't know, Sam. But it was either pay for another night or go sit out on the street waiting for him. He probably just got caught up."
"But what if he crashed his car or got hurt?" Sam whimpered quietly.
"Shut up, Sam! Just shut up!" Dean snapped, shoving his brother in frustration. The six-year-old lost his balance and fell on his side, but scrambled back into sitting again.
"But I'm scared, Dean! What if Dad's dead? Like Mom! What do we do?"
Dean snapped at the mention of his mother and struck his brother on the cheek, "Don't ever mention Mom! Don't talk about her like that! You didn't even know her, you were just a stupid baby! She never loved you like she loved me and Dad."
Sam stared at his elder brother with wide, terrified eyes. His brother never hit him before. Dean had shoved him a lot, but never hit. The younger boy darted to the bathroom and slammed the door, sitting against it and drawing his knees up to his chest. Dean could hear sniffles and sobs from behind the door and instantly regretted his actions. Not even John had hit Sam before. Who could hurt little Sammy? He couldn't hurt a fly. If he did, it'd be an accident and he'd feel guilty about it for days. Sam was such a good kid, he never meant any harm. Dean hated himself for snapping, but his mother was a sensitive topic. But of course Mary loved Sam. Just because he'd only been around for six months when she died, it didn't take a genius to see the adoration she had for her second son.
The eleven-year-old remembered the night his mom died as if it were yesterday. He remembered the smoke and the flames and briefly seeing his mother burning on the ceiling. He remembered carrying his baby brother outside and reassuring him that it would all be okay. He still had nightmares about it occasionally. Dean didn't like talking about Mary because he'd never been able to. John got unreasonably angry if his son asked about his mother and had yelled at him for merely mentioning her name. If he couldn't talk about his mom, why should Sam? He barely knew her anyway, he didn't remember her. Sam didn't even know what she looked like. For all Dean knew, John had destroyed all photos of her, either that or kept them hidden away for himself. Except for a couple Dean had stolen for himself.
Half an hour passed before Dean attempted to apologise to his brother. Sam needed a little time to calm down before being disturbed, as Dean had learned the hard way, and attempting to reason with him or make amends straight away was pointless. All you'd get is hysterical sobs in response. The eleven-year-old sat by the bathroom door, leaning against the wall.
"Sammy?" he said softly, "I'm sorry."
"Go 'way," Sam hiccupped and sniffled.
"I won't go away, Sam. I was a jerk, alright? I shouldn't have hit you and I shouldn't have got mad. Just…mom's a bit of a touchy subject. Dad doesn't like us talking about her."
"I got a bruise on my face," Sam mumbled.
"It'll clear up soon enough. You can hit me back if you want. I deserve it," Dean smirked a little, but a thought crossed his mind, "Hey, Sammy…don't tell Dad I hit you. Please."
"Why not?" Sam's voice still shook as he fought to stop the tears.
"Because he'll get mad, real mad. I really am sorry, Sammy. I'll do whatever you want to prove it. Just don't tell Dad," Dean put his head in his hands. John got angry enough if his eldest called Sam a name he didn't like. Actually hitting him? The older Winchester brother didn't even want to think about it.
The bathroom door unlocked and opened slightly, with Sam's face peeking through. His eyes were on full puppy-dog mode and his cheeks were tear stained, letting out the occasional sniffle. Dean sighed, holding out his arms.
"C'mere," he said softly, and his little brother ran and hugged him instantly. Sam sniffled and buried his head in Dean's chest, staying quiet.
"You love me, right, Dean?" the younger boy's voice was muffled from speaking into Dean's shirt.
"Sure I do. You're a pain in my ass but you're my brother. I'll always look out for you," Dean ruffled Sam's hair playfully, "Mom loved you too, Sammy."
"But you said…"
"I know what I said. But I just got mad, said stuff I didn't mean. Mom really loved you," the older brother smiled wistfully and let Sam stay attached to him. Eventually the six-year old let go, staring at the floor sadly.
"Why aren't we allowed to talk about mom?" Sam asked quietly.
"Because Dad said so," Dean said quickly, "Just drop it, Sam."
Sam heard the urgency in his brother's voice and didn't press further, going back to lay on his bed. Once he was settled reading his book, Dean got himself washed up and ready for the day, not that he'd be going out anywhere besides the store for some food. The surprise $10 was the best news he could get, but he put a dollar or two aside to save for a very special occasion. The amounts of money given to Dean for food varied with every new motel, and he had to be sure of one thing. No one knew if John would be around for Sam's seventh birthday in a week, but no matter what the circumstance, the elder Winchester brother had enough money for a happy meal for his little brother.
The kid had never even seen a birthday cake, whether it be his or another kid's, and his birthday presents were scarce. An occasional small toy here and there, more likely from Bobby or Pastor Jim than John, maybe some candy. It changed every year, but whatever he received Sam was genuinely grateful. Every gift he received got some kind of thank you note or drawing or something in return, though Sam wished he could buy thank you presents with his own money. A McDonalds was a small ask for any normal kid, but a huge deal for Sam Winchester. He'd set foot in that place once or twice. Dean looked forward to seeing the joy on his brother's face at his birthday treat.
The elder Winchester brother went to get washed and dressed while Sam tidied his things. If John was going to be arriving soon, he wanted to be ready to go. He wondered where they'd go next. Maybe they'd get to go to school again. Maybe he'd actually make a friend or two, or at least he certainly hoped he would. Sam had rarely mixed with other kids besides his brother and he certainly struggled trying to talk to other kids. The kids in his past classes had nowhere near as much interest in books as him and so they considered him strange for preferring to lose himself in a story over playing outside and playing tag. He'd been cooped up inside for the majority of his life, confined to motel rooms mostly. Bobby had been dismayed to see the six-year-old boy, who should be running around letting off steam, full of energy, standing looking a little lost when taken to the park in Sioux Falls to play. From then on the older hunter took both boys out as often as he could, even if it was to throw a ball around for a couple minutes.
Sam gasped urgently as he accidentally knocked over Dean's open duffle bag. Two pieces of paper floated to the floor and landed at the young boy's feet. Picking them up, he actually realised they were photographs, old and a little worn, singed a little at the edges. He studied the writing on the back of both photos carefully.
Mary and Dean, January 24th 1983.
Mary and Little Sammy, October 29th 1983.
Sam's eyebrows lifted upon seeing his own name, and turned both photos over. In both photos was a beautiful woman he'd never seen before, with long blonde hair and gentle eyes. He smiled to himself, thinking silently that she was one of the prettiest ladies he'd ever seen. It took Sam a moment to make the connection that this was his mother, a person he was forbidden to talk about or even mention.
"Mommy," he whispered in awe, studying both pictures in detail. He recognised his brother, seven years younger with chubby cheeks and a huge grin as he hugged his pregnant mother, and she hugged him back. Sam realised with a small gasp that in that picture, that baby bump must have been him.
Sam had never seen a picture of himself as a baby before. He stared at himself for a while, the small five month old baby nestled close to Mary, clinging onto her as she smiled at him lovingly. He wished he could remember his mom, even just a little bit. It saddened him that he'd never even known what she looked like until then.
"What the hell are you doing?" Sam had forgotten that his brother could be back any minute. He almost jumped out of his skin at his brother's unimpressed tone, and attempted to shove the photos back in Dean's bag. Too late, Dean had snatched them out of his hands.
"Quit snooping through my stuff, Sam!"
"That's mom, isn't it?" Sam looked up at Dean as he held the photos close to him.
"Shut up," Dean snapped, avoiding eye contact with his little brother.
"She's pretty," the six-year-old mumbled sadly and sat on his own bed, turned away from his big brother and rolling his toy car along the covers. Dean watched him with narrow eyes, but eventually sighed and sat beside him.
"She was beautiful," he said quietly, "The best mom in the world."
"You said we're not allowed to…"
"I know. But Dad isn't here. But you gotta promise me you won't rat me out," the older Winchester boy hated how his brother had only just seen his mother at the age of six. Just because John got all sensitive over Mary didn't mean that her mere name was a reason for punishment.
He told Sam everything he remembered about his mom and everything John had told him about her, which wasn't much. The younger boy listened intently and wished desperately that he could at least remember something himself, of course to no avail. Dean pressed the photo of Mary and baby Sam into his brother's hand with a soft smile.
"But it's yours," Sam said while staring at the photo.
"Nah. It's got you in it. It's yours, Sammy. I'm sorry I got mad. And I'm sorry Dad and I never told you anything about her. But you ask me anything you want about her, alright? As long as you don't go telling Dad," Dean patted his brother's back and got off the bed.
"Promise," the six-year old chirped, carefully putting the photo in the safety of his bag, "Why does Dad not like talking about her?"
"Because he misses her, Sam. He never got over it," Dean sighed and shook his head, "I miss her too…but he should move on. Sometimes I feel like he thinks of her more than us."
"Is that why he drinks a lot?" Sam stared at his photo, "Especially on her birthday?"
"Yeah. Says it makes him feel better."
"Doesn't look like it. He shouts when he drinks," the younger boy frowned. Dean shuddered at the thought of his drunk father. He hid Sam from it as best he could, took the brunt of John's anger so Sam didn't get hurt. It wasn't uncommon for the broken father's drunken nights to end in a black eye on his oldest son, which Dean always insisted to his brother was from getting in a fight. He had to protect his little brother from this violence, he was terrified that someday Sam would be the one with a black eye, but he also didn't want to scare him out of his wits. He was a sensitive kid, and the last thing he wanted was for him to be scared of his own father.
"How did she die, Dean?" the younger boy's voice was quiet with caution. Dean clenched his fist as his eyes filled with tears, his mind filled with the memories of fire and the stench of burning flesh. In an instant Sam regretted his decision and threw his arms around his brother in a tight hug. Eventually, the eleven-year-old gave in and hugged him back, burying his face in Sam's shoulder and refusing to cry. Dean crying meant Sam crying and he didn't have the energy to be dealing with that.
Sam didn't pester his brother for an answer, to Dean's relief. He knew he'd pushed his luck with that question, and refused to ask anything else for the rest of the day. The sky began to darken and there was still no sign of their father, so the six-year-old had resumed his position of watching out the window avidly. He wouldn't touch the food prepared for him by his brother, because he insisted he wanted to eat once his Dad was home. Dean was starting to worry himself, and was desperately trying to conceal this from his brother. John had never been late home before. He'd never been so late to the point where his sons would have to call Bobby or Pastor Jim for help. But it looked as if it were the only way.
Dean's hand was shaking a little as he picked up the motel phone, dialling up Jim Murphy's number slowly and sitting on the bed while Sam watched on from the window.
"P-Pastor Jim?" the older boy's tone made Sam nervous, "It's Dean…Dean Winchester."
"Dean? Is everything alright?"
"Yeah…well. No actually. Our Dad hasn't come back yet. He said he would today…and we," he glanced over at Sam briefly, "Only have enough money for tonight in the motel."
The six-year-old gasped quietly and stared, wide eyed at Dean. Jim went a little quiet over the phone.
"Where are you right now, Dean?" he said calmly, silently hoping the boys were, with a stroke of luck, in the same state.
"Washington…near Seattle, I think," Dean's answer made the Pastor's chest clench. He was at least a day away, even by driving. It was getting late, there was no way he could get there before the next night.
"You definitely don't have any more money for the motel?" he was unsure what else to suggest. He'd get to them as fast as he could, but the streets at night was no place for two young boys.
"We…we only have about $10 for food," Dean said, while Sam stared at him with a fearful expression.
"I'll get there as soon as I can, Dean. You take care of yourself and Sam, stay safe. Is there anyone else you can call?"
"Uncle Bobby. He's in South Dakota," the older boy said hopefully, but Jim only shook his head. Bobby was pretty much the same distance away.
"Try and find somewhere for you boys to go if your father isn't back by tomorrow night, you got that?" Jim's voice was serious.
"Yes, sir," Dean nodded to himself.
"See if there's a church nearby, ask if they can take you both in for the night," the Pastor only hoped that wouldn't get the boys taken away into care.
"Yes, sir," Dean repeated, "Thanks, Pastor Jim."
The call ended, and Jim put the phone down with a sigh, "Stay safe, boys."
Thanks for reading! Updates on all my fics will be slower - I've just started university! Thanks for understanding :)
