Faltered: Chapter 4

Sam was a curious four year old. It was Dean's job to keep his eye on him nearly every minute.

Today while their worked Pop repairing the fence that penned in the cow and the horse they kept; little Sammy was chasing after a frog that was hopping around their well. Dean sat quietly nearby keeping one eye on Sam and one eye on his father.

Dean was eight years old now and he would have really liked to be helping his father and not watching the baby but he couldn't express his desire to do so. So he did what his father told him. It had been days maybe weeks since his father said anything to him besides ordering him to watch Sammy or clean up or go to bed. Dean knew that Pop had other things on his mind. He was just happy his father was here with them. Ever since they had gone into town years ago to Mr. Singers his pop had been leaving alone with the Pastor.

He would be gone for a few days, them he would come back. He'd take them back to their farm and scribble in his book. Dean never saw what he was writing because his father always closed and hid the book whenever Dean got too close. Then his father after a few days would be done writing in his book and he'd go back to working on the farm.

That was all Dean had come to expect his father's attention to be focused on something other than him. He really liked it better when no one was focused on him. As long as He was a good boy and he did what he was told maybe his father would be happy and not yell at him or call him names or tell him to walk right.

Then maybe his pop would let him help with grown up work.

John keep his guard up constantly, even as he did the work he needed to do on his farm in the back of his mind was the hunt. Soon he would pack up his things and leave his boys with the pastor and get back to his chosen work.

Now he was preparing, taking notes in his journal, researching, and forging some new iron darts and other weapons in the blacksmith workshop he'd set up on his property.

As he did the work that had to be done on his fence he watched his boys. Sam was growing up healthy and strong, Mary would have been delighted to see what a charming child he'd grown into. He was curious and smart. John loved reading to the young boy and having Sam ramble stories he'd made up. The imaginative child was talkative and bright. He was surly going to be handsome when he grew up. He had Mary's light hair and eyes. John took great joy in having Sammy around.

Dean was the opposite in looks and manor. His hair had gotten dark, in certain light it almost appeared black and his eyes even though they were green seemed to have a darkness as well.

It had been four years since Dean had spoken to John. John had always hoped that the boy would grow out of it, so far no amount of begging or ordering had gotten Dean to open his mouth. Still Dean was a good boy. He didn't act up; he did most everything else John told him to do. He still limped; it was a shallow quick hitch. He would even compensate with a hop step when he needed to move quickly. It didn't seem to pain the boy too much. This didn't stop John from feeling guilty where the boy was concerned.

John had one eye on the boys. Sammy was hopping around like a little frog. John smiled at the little boy playing. Dean sat close by watching him but did not get involved with Sam's game. John supposed that Dean was getting a little old for games with his brother.

Dean never seemed to mind watching his brother. John had observed over the years that Dean was usually more focused and responsive when around Sam.

spspsps

Dean sighed Sammy was hopping around like a frog. Dean could only just remember the time before the fire, when he felt like Sammy must, carefree.

Dean leaned against the large forked tree by the well and thought about his mother. Before the fire had taken her away she had been warm and pretty. He missed her very much.

His pop had taken him and Sammy to the place where their house had been. The place was no longer his home there was no more house and the land looked strange and empty. The only thing that stood there was an iron cross Pop had placed there as a monument. Dean had touched it and been shocked by how cold it was. It did not remind him of his mother at all. Sammy reminded him of his mother, Sammy was his home now.

Dean was trying to remember Mary's face when he heard someone shouting. Instantly he became aware that his pop was shouting because Sammy had hopped away from the well and was now face to face with a mutt that had wondered onto their property.

John dropped his tools and yelled when he saw the strange dog making its way over to Sam. He wasn't close enough to a pistol and Sammy was too close to the dog for John to use the shotgun he had at hand. So John started running towards the mean looking dog with the intention of grabbing Sammy and kicking the flea bitten mutt.

He didn't get close to the now growling dog; just as John grabbed Sam a rock the size of fist smacked the animal right between the eyes.

The dog ran off, and John was too stunned by what had happened to chase the creature down and put it out of its misery. Holding Sam tight in him arms he turned to his eldest son. Dean stood breathing a heavy with a determined look on his face.

John couldn't believe what he'd seen he wasn't sure he could have throw that accurate from the distance Dean had if he'd wanted too. "You've got a good arm on you son." good aim too John thought.

Dean nodded as John put Sammy down. Sammy ran to Dean. Dean's eyes scanned the younger boy for any injuries.

John watched Dean closely as the he comforted his little brother.

"Dean, have I ever taught you how to hold a gun?"

The boy had landed on his backside the first time he squeezed the trigger. But after adjusting his stance and preparing himself for the kickback Dean Winchester bulls eyed every can and bottle his father set up on the fence. Poppa Winchester was a proud man, he bet no one else's son in town could have done as well there first time.

"Good job son." John patted the skinny boy on the back and held out his hand for the gun.

Dean gripped the gun tightly. It was the first taste of power of control he'd had in his young life. He like it, he also like the look his father was giving him. It was something Dean had rarely seen these past for years. He wanted to hold onto it all, the feelings the warm gun in his hand. He feared he'd never feel that way again.

Pop was insisting he get the gun back so Dean carefully handed back the weapon. "Now take your brother inside and get ready, Pastor Jim is nearly here."

Dean did as he was told, collected Sammy and went back in the house. He looked back over his shoulder, his father still held the gun.

John sat and watched while Jim taught the boys. He thought hard about what he should do next. The conclusion he came to was that he needed to train Dean. He'd have to see what the boy was physically capable of but he could at least teach him proper care of a gun and how to safely use a knife. John knew he would feel better leaving the boys without him if Dean at least could protect them. Not, that John didn't trust Jim just that he trusted blood more.

tbc...