?
He was in a field, where the long stalks of grass had the same color as butter-cream and the way they swayed in a non-existent wind was eerily similar to a cookie batter being stirred counterclockwise. It would have been a peaceful, delightfully inviting sight if it was not for the fact that everything else around him was enveloped by shadows.
As Dean continued to stare at his environment, he received the notion that he was actually deep inside a beast, right in its belly, because the darkness was shifting and churning, sort of like how a stomach would digest food. The beast must have thought the field looked delicious, and swallowed Dean along with it.
He had to find some place safe; he did not want to be digested. Dean searched the field for a hole that might lead somewhere, a couple of stones that he could equip himself with, or even an insect he could follow to safety, but he saw nothing useful. Finally, his eyes landed on a house in the distance. Having no other choice, he hurriedly set off for it.
Every time he took a step, the grass crunched strangely under his feet, and the sound reminded him of crackers being broken. The darkness was beginning to shift faster, as if the beast knew Dean was trying to get away and urged itself to digest at a quicker rate. Dean ran, putting more pressure into his legs even as they start to hurt. It felt like hours before the house was within his reach, and once he was near it he discovered it was really a barn, abandoned and dilapidated.
Dean scrambled inside, relieved it was unlocked, and shut the doors behind him. The echo of wood and metal slamming together resounded throughout the entire space, lasting far longer than it should. The moment the noise died, Dean allowed himself to turn around, his back to the door, and sank to the ground to catch his breath.
Gradually, his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room, and he later realized that he was not alone inside the barn. Dean cursed himself for his stupidity. How could he forget to check the perimeters? What if that other person had already made a move to kill him and he was totally oblivious?
Getting into a defensive stance, Dean carefully studied his company: the good news was that the other person had his back to him, so there was a chance that he was unaware of Dean's presence. It was either that or the person knew he was behind him and was simply fooling him into a false sense of security. Dean waited a bit longer but the person was not moving.
A quick scan of the barn revealed to Dean that the place was utterly empty, save for the two of them. No stacks of hay, no animals, no farm tools, no heavy machinery, zilch. However, what seriously caught his attention were the sigils painted on the walls, ceiling and floor. He recognized a handful of them as the ones his dad used to hunt monsters, and that discovery put him on edge. Was the person on the opposite end of the barn the monster?
Dean knew he cannot just stand around and do nothing. If he wanted answers, he had to interrogate the other person.
He slowly approached the figure, who still had not moved an inch after all this time, and for a second Dean wondered if this was merely a statue. When he was halfway there, he began to notice more details about the person. The short, messy dark hair told him it was a male, and his height was that of a boy's, just a little younger than him. He was wearing a beige coat (a trench coat?) that was slightly too big for him, black slacks and shiny black shoes that would impress any elementary school teacher.
When Dean was less than ten feet away, he saw that there was a sort of light encasing the boy, light coming from above. As he got closer, he could detect the crisp scent of air just before rain would start, could feel he exhilarating coolness of being on top of a mountain; for some reason, a sense of awe was filling his mind.
Then Dean suddenly distinguished the shape in front of him. "Conner?" he called out.
Conner turned to face him. Under the trench coat, he was wearing the same blue tie and white shirt he had on when Dean first saw him that stormy night, although this time Conner appeared to be wearing a black jacket or blazer as well, matching his pants and shoes. He looked too much like an adult in those clothes.
The instant their gazes met, the ground began to rumble viciously. Dean's balance was immediately thrown off and he crashed to the floor. Somehow, Conner remained unaffected by the earthquake as he stood perfectly still in his spot. In fact, he seemed dazed; his face was an emotionless mask that told Dean that he was not even conscious of what was happening. As the shudders worsened, the light surrounding Conner was intensifying tremendously, to the point that it was almost blinding.
Dean shielded his eyes and tried to reach out for Conner, but the earthquake was so strong that he was being carried off to the edge of the barn no matter how desperately he attempted to stand up.
"Conner!" he yelled.
Conner blinked, and the detached façade melted and gave way to concern. "Dean?"
Conner reached a hand out to him; however, the shaft of light he was in was already overwhelmingly bright and he was starting to vanish in the whiteness. A second before he was completely engulfed, a moment before the brightness spread throughout the whole barn, Dean caught a glimpse of wings at Conner's back…
7:03 AM
Dean woke up with his eyes cruelly snapping open and his heart banging in his ribcage. He could not remember what he had been dreaming about, but whatever it was, the dream had been intense enough to wake him into a shock.
As he adjusted his brain to the real world, he felt a warm weight on his left side. He lifted the blankets and found a sleeping Conner cuddled up next to him. The orange monkey he had snuggled with the night before was off to the side, as if his friend had unconsciously traded it away for something much preferable. His unkempt hair was under Dean's chin; the upper half of his head was resting on a pillow and the lower half was on Dean's chest. One of Conner's arms was partially draped across Dean's midsection, while the other was on Dean's left shoulder.
It was one of the most disgustingly chick-flick moments in his life and Dean had to summon all his self-control to keep himself from screaming and shoving Conner off him.
Despite the awkward predicament, feelings of contentment and protectiveness washed over Dean. A few days ago, Conner had been lost, scared and shivering alone in the rain. Now here he was, safe in bed, warm in his borrowed clothes and as protected from the unforgiving reality as him and Sam. Conner still looked as vulnerable as a kitten, albeit it comforted Dean to know that he was being watched over.
"Deeeeeaaan, come outside!" beckoned Sam, his voice coming from the foot of the bed.
Dean could not believe he forgot to check on his brother. From the sound of things, Sam had been awake for quite some time already, and had ventured outdoors for a while. Careful of Conner's dozing weight, Dean got up to see what Sam was so thrilled about.
Apparently, Sam was covered head-to-toe in mud.
"Holy – !" Dean barely stopped himself from swearing. "What the hell happened to you?" he exclaimed.
"I saw mud puddles so I went outside." said Sam, smiling and rocking on the balls of his feet as if all was well in the world. "They're really nice and squishy and fun to jump around in!"
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "Take a bath now." he said.
At that, Sam crossed his arms and made an affronted bitch-face. "No!" he said.
"Sam," started Dean.
"Don't wanna!"
Their shouting had risen and, consequentially, Conner woke up and sluggishly rolled off Dean with a displeased moan.
Dean resisted the urge to say 'Great, now you woke him up!' at Sam, though instead used the opportunity to sit up straighter since Conner was not weighing him down anymore. "Stop being such a drama queen and take a stupid bath." he said steadfastly.
Sam did not seem any less determined regarding his opinion on the matter; his bitch-face appeared to be settling permanently on his face, similar to how cement would dry on a sidewalk. Without warning, Sam marched over to the side of the bed, leaving a trail of mud in his wake, and locked his eyes on Conner, who was still a tad groggy and ignorant to the situation. Then, Sam placed his mud-caked hands on Conner's face and neck, smearing the muck all over his skin.
"Hey!" yelled Dean.
A smug, challenging smile manifested on Sam's lips. "There. Now two of us are dirty." he stated.
"What was that for?" demanded Dean, gesturing at Conner who currently looked so confused his head could explode at any second.
"Two against one." said Sam.
"Did I do something wrong?" asked Conner anxiously.
Dean sighed and shook his head; he wished his dad was here so he would not have to deal with this. "I'm throwing you two in the tub." he said.
When he uttered that last word, Sam made a dash for the door, but Dean was ready for him and caught his brother by the arm in an instant. Conner was much more willing to cooperate as Dean only had to lead him forward by the shoulder.
"You can't do this!" screamed Sam, struggling in his grip.
"Uh, yeah, I can." said Dean, mustering every drop of big-brother authority he possessed. "Now, strip down to your undies."
8:14 AM
It was an accident when Dean discovered that Sam had no clean clothes left (although, he had to admit, that was definitely one of the most hilarious accidents he ever chanced upon, much to Sam's dismay). With the kind of lifestyle they led, it was a rule that they travel light whenever possible; in addition, they seldom had the occasion to buy new clothes, primarily because most of their money went to food, weapons and medical supplies, and it did not help that they never really put a lot of effort into stopping by at 'domestic' shops either. Furthermore, with Conner borrowing half of Sam's already too limited garments, his brother's supply diminished quicker.
So while Dean had to wash their dirty clothes in the laundry room, Sam and Conner had no choice but to wait… in their underwear. Dean had laughed at the two of them the entire way as they ventured into the motel's laundry room, and throughout that time, Sam sported a gigantic pout and Conner his usual bemused expression. Of course, Dean was not that ruthless as to let them wander outside in just their underwear; he made them take the blankets from their room to fend off the nippy autumn air. The last thing he needed on his plate was for one or both of them to catch pneumonia or something.
Presently, Dean was watching their laundry tumble around in a washing machine, bored at its non-exciting movements yet vigilant for any potential thieves. Sam and Conner had went to explore the tiny laundry room, partly because they wanted to find a warmer spot (Sam's butt was getting numb from the cold, which was seriously funny), and partly in the name of curiosity.
It was a bit of a relief that they were the only people here, which saved Sam and Conner the humiliation of being witnessed in their lack of clothes. There were four washing machines in the room – two washing machines in a row, back to back – and three of them were tossing and turning the clothes of the other motel guests, which meant that their owners will come back some time soon, so Dean had to make sure that they leave before someone walked in to pick up their laundry.
Dean let his thoughts drift to what their breakfast would be, if there was a place they could go to entertain themselves today, how many more days he had to endure before he was allowed to consume pie again… Then Dean's brows quirked at a particular notion: had Conner ever used the bathroom before?
Now, Dean was all for skipping baths every once in a while, but after all the vigorous things they had done in the last few days, Conner never reeked, never sweated. He always looked clean, in spite of the messy hair, and just this morning when he woke up Dean caught the refreshing scent of springtime drizzle on his head. Besides that, he had not seen Conner hurry to the bathroom to relieve himself, or did he simply carry out his business in the middle of the night when he and Sam were asleep?
"What it is?" Conner's question wafted from the other end of the room.
"I think it's a funny hat. See?" There was a lot of shifting noises as Sam probably wore whatever it was they found.
Ten seconds of silence went by with, most likely, Conner's contemplation. "Maybe this is… a bed for small rodents and birds? These pouches are soft enough for them to sleep in." he proposed
Four quiet seconds went on for Sam's thinking. "What if it's a bag? It's got handles. You can carry stuff in it, like marbles."
There was a sequence of soft rustlings as the mystery object was being experimented on. The sound of limbs bumping into the washing machines echoed throughout the room, like whatever stunts the two of them were doing involved a great deal of maneuvering that was too ambitious to be confined within the cramped space of the laundry room. Dean was tempted to abandon his post and check on them, his curiosity piqued at their discovery.
"It can be a slingshot. Its sides are able to stretch out, and you can deposit your projectiles into these soft paddings." Conner eventually offered. To emphasize his point, a satisfying snap was heard.
"Wow, I think it is a slingshot!" said Sam, thrilled. "Wait a minute… There's some metal thingies at the back."
"That's… odd. They appear to be hooks." Dean could just imagine Conner analyzing every angle and detail of the mystery object now, not to mention the mixed look of determination and perplexity on his face. "I've never seen slingshots with hooks before."
"Maybe they came up with a new kind?" supposed Sam.
The room became quiet again; possibly more experimentation. "I fail to see the purpose of these hooks if this contraption is a slingshot." said Conner.
"So… it's not a slingshot?" inquired Sam, a little dejected.
Conner sighed. "Afraid not."
Believing the debate to be over, Dean returned his attention to the clothes spinning in front of him. A few seconds later, he discovered he could not shake the thought out of his mind. What did they find anyway? What if the 'handles' were actually 'straps'? After all, they were inside a laundry room; the things found here were clothes, and Sam did initially mistake the object to be a hat. Clothes did not have handles, so they had to be straps. What had soft paddings, hooks, straps and can stretch?
Dean's eyes widened in horror.
"Hey, hang on. I think I've got it!" declared Sam triumphantly.
"You have?" asked Conner.
"We've been holding it the wrong way!"
"Then what is it?"
"It's… one of those weird shirts."
"This is a form of clothing?"
"Sorta. Here, let me put these on you. Slip your arm there… no, no, over there. Now do it on the other side…"
It was at that second that Dean's eyeballs threatened to shoot out of their sockets and rocket straight to the next town. Dear God, Sam figured it out!
"It feels snug." observed Conner after a minute. "I like it."
And that was the last straw. Dean bolted from his spot and, as he rounded the tight corner, he hoped that his suspicions were wrong, that Conner and Sam were not in possession of what he thought they were harboring. At all. In the slightest. Please. Because that would be the most awkward incident in the history of awkwardness, and Dean would not be able to live with himself.
Unfortunately, 'The Most Awkward Incident In The History Of Awkwardness' was the scene that greeted him.
"Holy crap!" Dean shouted.
The Most Awkward Incident In The History Of Awkwardness: Conner was wearing a bra – pink and frilly and the cups just slightly smaller than his head – and Sam was helping him get it into place. The worst part about this was the fact that they were in their underwear. No, scratch that – the absolute worst part was that they acted as if there was nothing wrong with the picture they were setting. Dean resisted the urge to fetch the gasoline and matches hidden in his duffel so he could light himself on fire.
Conner blinked at his arrival, innocent and impassive. "Hello, Dean." he responded.
Registering Dean's presence, Sam straightened up from where he was bent over adjusting the hooks and beamed at his brother. "Dean! We found a weird, squishy shirt! And I'm helping put it on Conner!" he happily proclaimed.
And whether Sam needed something to steady his balance as he rose to his full height, or if he was merely demonstrating the 'squishy' quality, his hand landed on one of the cups and he gave it a couple of good squeezes. Throughout that act, Conner stared down at his chest in odd fascination; no protests, no questions.
Something snapped inside Dean then, and he did not care if anybody could hear him when he screamed at the top of his lungs, "GET THAT OFF HIM RIGHT NOW!"
10:09 AM
One very long, semi-sugarcoated explanation later about 'certain girl-clothes' and how it was now forbidden for them to snoop around other people's laundry, Dean took Sam and Conner (both fully dressed in normal, decent clothes) to a nearby diner for breakfast. Aside from the fact that Dean wanted to have a warmer, fresher breakfast today, he also intended for the three of them to get some distance from the motel for a while, lest another round of embarrassment befell them.
Instead of settling on a cushy booth, Sam found the stools at the counter more interesting because they were 'spinny'. However, his enthusiasm was not enough to get him onto the seats themselves since the stools were taller than him. As amusing as it was to watch Sam clamber, fall and leap at weird angles pathetically, Dean carried him to his seat before parking his butt down as well. Thankfully, Conner had a few more inches on him than Sam and managed to climb and sit on his own.
"I'll have a double-cheeseburger, a side of bacon with extra bacon and a cup of coffee." said Dean to the cashier, a guy who was around eighteen or so and seemed utterly displeased with his job.
"Aren't you too young to be drinking coffee?" cashier-guy grumpily asked. He had a name-tag on but the letters had been blurred beyond recognition.
"Fine. I'll have hot chocolate." Dean acquiesced, huffing out a sigh. "What about you, Sammy?"
"Hash-brown and pancakes! Hash-brown and pancakes!" chanted Sam as he spun his chair like he owned it.
"Yeah, he'll have that. And orange juice, right?" added Dean, glancing at his little brother.
"Uh-huh!" he piped.
Dean craned his neck until he could see his friend. "Conner?" he asked.
Conner was staring at the chalkboard menu in front of him in his typical wide-eyed, clueless expression. He almost looked intimidated at the number of choices presented to him, like he feared he might pick the wrong kind of food in a manner comparable to a kid in school worrying he might select the wrong answer to a test.
"I don't know." he said.
Cashier-guy was starting to make his way to the kitchen. "He'll have the same thing as me." Dean hollered after him.
"Whatever." grunted cashier-guy. And he disappeared through the door.
Sam brusquely stopped spinning and pointed a finger at the window on their right. "Dean, they have a playground outside!" he squealed.
It was not a big playground, and it was certainly not the prettiest. The space must have been an abandoned lot before, and it would appear that it had not been properly maintained recently. The ground was cracked and covered in dying weeds, and ugly graffiti was scribbled on the enclosing wall. The plastic slide was dirty and faded, the seesaw was a scraped heap in the corner and the swing set looked so brittle and rusty that it could collapse at the slightest touch. Nonetheless, Dean and Sam had played in worse environments.
"Eat breakfast first, then you can run around like an idiot." said Dean.
Eight minutes passed and cashier-guy, now waiter-guy, came out with three plates and sloppily placed them in front of the boys. Once that was over, he retreated to the kitchen for the second time with an audible groan of discontentment. Dean shrugged and focused on his meal.
"This is…?" Conner asked, scrutinizing the greasy monstrosity on his plate.
"A burger. A double-cheeseburger." said Dean through mouthfuls of his own burger.
When all Conner gave him was a blank stare, Dean took a huge bite out of his burger and chewed deliberately with a smile, a tactic to show him that there was nothing to be afraid of and that he should just sink his teeth into the thing.
Conner did so, although his bite was considerably, warily smaller than Dean's. After a brief moment of chewing, Conner's eyes grew big and his hold on the burger slackened, on the verge of falling.
"What's the matter?" inquired Dean apprehensively. Had cashier-guy given him bad meat? Was there a distinct 'bug-crunch'?
Gradually, Conner swallowed his mouthful. "It's… It tastes… good." he said, amazed at his discovery.
The second his mini-heart attack dwindled, Dean let out a laugh. "Well then don't let me stop you from wolfing it down." he chuckled.
Conner nodded and proceeded to consume his breakfast with much more vigor. By the time Dean was barely halfway finished, he heard the hearty clatter of a plate and saw that Conner had already eaten his entire burger. He and Sam eyed their friend in astonishment.
"May I please have another?" asked Conner sheepishly.
The brothers exchanged glances, wondering if this was either the most awesome or the most frightening thing they learned about Conner.
Definitely the most awesome.
11:46 AM
As Dean promised, play time was allowed once breakfast was over, though Sam realized he could not run or roll around too much or else he would end up with an upset tummy, and maybe throw up. He did not like having an upset tummy, and he hated throwing up, especially if he had had such tasty food.
Dean stayed behind inside the diner to order take-out, so when the food came, it would be time to go back to the motel. Sam was sad that his big brother could not play outside, but luckily Conner agreed to accompany him.
At present, Sam was balancing on the dangerously rundown seesaw, pretending to be an acrobat. Once he made it across the beam without falling off, he hopped to the ground to bask in the applause of his imaginary audience, plus Conner.
…except Conner was missing. He was as apparent as the pretend-audience.
Sam glanced sideways to see if Conner had gone into the diner, yet Dean's outline was the only form he could see there. He also distinctly recalled that there was no bathroom in the diner, so Conner had to be out here in the playground.
He checked for his friend under the bits and pieces of the seesaw, thinking maybe Conner wanted to play hide-n-seek, albeit Sam did not find him. He ventured close to the thick patch of weeds that grew next to the swings and his search was fruitless again. The plastic slide remained; it was the sort that had a few cubby-holes attached to it, so perhaps Conner was in one of them.
Crouching down, Sam saw that Conner was not under the slide; that left the final cubby-hole at the very top. He cautiously scaled the ladder slick with early frost and remnants of rainwater and peered inside the little box. A smile crept up Sam's lips when his eyes landed on Conner's huddled shape; his friend was facing the exit-way that led down the slide, so his back was turned to Sam.
Nevertheless, there was something… not right with the atmosphere. Sam hunted for the source and he noticed that Conner's shoulders were quivering. As Sam pulled his whole body into the cubby-hole, he realized that Conner was hugging his legs and his face was buried in his knees.
"Conner?" Sam quietly called out. When there was no answer, Sam crawled closer. "Conner, what's wrong? Do you have a tummy ache?" he asked. After all, he had eaten a lot of burgers earlier and maybe his tummy was finally mad at him and made him hurt.
Conner still was not acknowledging him; if anything, he scrunched himself up into a much tighter ball.
This caused Sam to become very worried. He wished Dean was here, he would know what to do. But if Sam left to get his brother, Conner would be alone, and he could not let that happen a second longer. Carefully, Sam put what he hoped was an assuring, steady hand on his friend's shoulder. "Conner…"
A frail shake wracked Conner's body as a response, followed by a miserable, trembling sniff. For a while, Sam thought Conner would edge toward the slide, go down and run away from him, but he gratefully stayed in place. Nonetheless, when Conner hesitantly lifted his head and turned to Sam, the latter was appalled by how red and wet the former's eyes were. Conner's face was drenched with a steady flow of tears; his fingers were clutching at the fabric of his jacket so forcefully that his knuckles were white and seemed too brittle, not to mention that the material might actually rip.
Before he could say anything, Conner had to take control of the sobs that were now pouring out of his mouth. "I-I… I miss… m-my family." wept Conner. He placed his head back into his knees and hugged himself tighter. "I miss my h-h-home." he added, his voice muffled by his pants but totally comprehensible.
The words made Sam's mind freeze in distress and sympathy. He should have known Conner would eventually miss his family; if he was in his situation, Sam would be crying all the time until Dean or his dad found him. While Sam was used to not having his dad around everyday, he at least always had his brother with him, and that was more than enough. Conner had not seen any of his family for half a week already, and Sam had to admire the fact that his friend managed to last this long. Regardless, Conner needed some comfort now, so he scooted beside him and hugged him.
"S'okay, Conner." consoled Sam. He wanted him to stop crying, because the longer Conner cried, the sadder Sam got as well for not being able to bring him to his family, since that was what would make Conner happy.
Movement from afar caught Sam's eye and he looked out to the other side of the road to find a group of people waiting at a bus stop. As he continued to stare, Sam noted they were actually a family of ten: a daddy, a mommy, three teenagers, two kids, a grandpa and two grandmas. They were all talking to and playing with one another, and the only problem Sam could pinpoint was a bit of teasing among the kids. Besides that, there was nothing wrong; they were a perfect family. Sam realized a second later that Conner must have seen them interacting together and was reminded of his own family, which brought on a heavy dose of longing.
"Do you want to talk about them?" asked Sam gently.
Conner lifted his bloodshot eyes from his legs and locked on Sam. "Who?" he sniveled.
"Your family. Dean said you have brothers." said Sam. He was also aware that they were the ones who dumped Conner in the rain a few nights ago, but if Conner missed his family that meant he cared about them, loved them dearly. Dean taught Sam that if he was missing something or someone really bad, it would help to think about them, remember all the good stuff that made them missed in the first place, so that every drop of misery would transform into excitement and anticipation for when he would encounter them again.
Dean's logic appeared to have worked since Conner wiped his eyes using the back of his hands. "Yes… and sisters." he quietly replied.
"What's that like?" probed Sam, honestly curious.
At that, Conner straightened up a tad and a thoughtful expression mingled with his grief, as if he was trying to lure the correct words through the forest of his sorrow. "There's… many of us. Very many... Very bright." he began, though his voice still cracked and trembled. "We take care of each other… teach each other… We're expected to function on our own, but we still help one another sometimes." he said.
"Like me and Dean," burst in Sam, slightly too energetic than what was appropriate. He fleetingly wondered why Conner had never really discussed his family with them before, opting to reveal as little detail as possible. It sounded like they were an interesting bunch, and the fact that they were a lot made the matter more fascinating.
Conner blinked, albeit a second afterward the barest of smiles tugged at his lips. "In a way." he agreed.
"So are you a big brother or a little brother?" Sam inquired.
"Almost all of my siblings are older than me…" said Conner pensively.
"You're a little brother! Like me!" concluded Sam, bouncing a couple of times in his cross-legged position. For Sam, it was always a pleasure to get into contact with the other little brothers of the world, since he rarely had the chance to talk to children, or nearly anyone outside his family.
"I suppose." said Conner.
Throughout their conversation, Sam noticed that Conner's cheeks were drying and that his tears only remained at the edge of his eyes by now; this was excellent progress. He decided to take it one step further and went down the slide. He waited for Conner on the ground, urging him to follow with a combination of puppy eyes and a supportive grin. An air of uncertainty manifested around Conner, which was later quelled when he gathered himself and warily descended the slide.
Sam's grin grew bigger as he helped Conner to his feet. "Do your brothers and sisters boss you around 'cuz you're younger than them?" he asked, resuming their chat. He often speculated if other little brothers had the same ordeals he had to endure.
Mild irritation that lasted for a split-second flashed on Conner's face, and that was all the proof Sam required. "Frequently." he answered.
"And they probably treat you like a baby too, huh?" Sam went on as he guided them to the swing-set.
There was a suggestion of disciplined reverence on Conner's features, like he knew he should respect those who were older than him, was trained to obey without question and was inculcated to treat their opinions as law. "It's infuriating at times." admitted Conner eventually.
And, finally, there was someone who understood Sam's torment. "Exactly! We should… We should have a club or something! The Little Brothers Club – where we can do whatever we want and not be bossed around by older brothers!" proclaimed Sam.
Conner chuckled. "And older sisters." he added.
"And older sisters!" Sam affixed.
By now, they were standing at the swings and their peaceful sways to the wind were enticing, practically beckoning anybody to sit on them. Sam took the silent offer and claimed the swing on the left side; Conner gradually copied his actions and got the remaining swing on the right. Sam moved his feet to and fro, and once he received a good momentum he used his body to provide a couple of extra pushes. Soon, he was soaring high on the swing set. Although, when his gaze wandered below, he saw that Conner was striving, yet failing, to get himself airborne.
Sam skidded to a stop. "No, you gotta kick your legs back and forth. Keep doing that 'til you feel yourself get higher. That's what my dad taught me." he instructed, performing the motions with his legs at a controlled pace so Conner would understand.
It took a minute or longer, but Conner soon fathomed the rhythm and was going backward and forward. His force was not that impressive, but that could be blamed on his lingering heartache, plus the fact that he was still new at this. While Sam monitored Conner's progress, his last sentence caught up to him and a heavy, sinking feeling settled in his stomach, just barely overwhelmed by inquisitiveness.
"What about your daddy and… mommy?" asked Sam quietly. He almost did not want to utter the words, because even as they left his tongue, a degree of loneliness and a kind desperation went through his core, and he imagined them as darts hitting close to the bulls-eye.
Conner immediately stopped swinging and his face became unreadable. "I have a Father." he replied. The 'no mother' part rang loud and clear in Sam's mind.
"Does he spend time with you and your brothers and your sisters?" Sam inquired, and he could not help the bit of yearning that slipped from his mouth.
A strong gust of wind blew from behind them as Conner bowed his head. "Most of us haven't even seen Him." he muttered.
"Why?" Sam blurted out.
There was that pause again, like Conner was figuring out the answer as well. "It's none of our business." he said.
"But he's your dad!" yelled Sam.
"He's often busy." said Conner.
"Busy with work?" offered Sam. If so, he had more in common with Conner than he thought.
Conner stared up at the gray clouds, and if Sam did not know any better he would say that his friend was attempting to find his dad behind the dense, puffy layers. "That's one way to put it." he murmured.
They sat in silence for a moment, neither swinging nor making an effort to get up. "I don't have a mom too. At least, not anymore." said Sam under his breath.
His confession managed to tear Conner's gaze from the sky. "What happened?" he inquired.
Sam bit his lower lip and shrugged. "Dad and Dean don't wanna talk about it." he said, and he often recalled how angry or troubled they got whenever he mentioned her. He looked down at his grubby shoes and sighed. "I don't even remember her."
There was a rusty squeak and Sam, through the corner of his vision, noticed Conner edging close to him without leaving his metal seat. "I'm sorry." he whispered.
The rock at Sam's feet suddenly looked out of place and he kicked it over to the seesaw. "Hey, Conner?"
"Hm?"
"What do you think having a mom's like?" Sam asked.
Surprised, Conner blinked at his query and tilted his head to the side. "I don't really know." he responded.
"Dean says it's nice. Moms give you kisses and hugs everyday. And they sing to you if you can't sleep." said Sam, smiling sadly. He wondered what life his family would have if his mom had not died. Would they still be traveling all the time? Would his mom go with his dad to work or would she stay at home with him and Dean? Would everyone be really happier?
"That does sound nice." said Conner, and a similar extent of desire lined his voice.
Sam made a noise that was closely related to a gasp. "I'm not making you feel better anymore, am I?" he stated fretfully.
"It's alright." said Conner, giving him a half-smile that meant he appreciated everything Sam had been doing.
"Dean's getting double-cheeseburgers for takeout." Sam quickly added as a last-ditch effort to prevent his friend from crying again.
"I look forward to them." said Conner, though his tone lacked any trace of eagerness.
Sam got off his swing and hugged Conner for the second time. "We'll get you to your family soon. When dad comes back, he can help. He's good at finding stuff." he said.
The tension in Conner's shoulders slowly dissipated and he allowed his cheek to rest on Sam's hair as an act of trust. "Okay." he mumbled.
And a promise was created.
TBC
I'm sorry the latter half of this chapter is gloomy. I wish I could write happy, fun, rainbows-and-unicorns, sunshine-and-cookies-awesomeness all the time for the boys… but they need to grow during sad times too.
And the barn setting in Dean's dream may or may not be the barn where he and Cas officially met. ;)
Next chapter won't be as depressing (I think). And look forward to the appearance of a "certain character" on the next update! :D
Thanks again for reading!