Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, still getting over that and the fact that I don't have Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles phone numbers.

Mother's Day

No one knew, not the teacher, not the parents helping in the class, and certainly not the other students, what no one knew was that when Mrs. Green had announced that they were going to make mothers day cards, Samuel Winchesters heart broke. And as they started to hand out papers and markers, and glitter and glue and everything else that you used to make a mothers day card, Sam ignored everything that was laid down in front of him. He didn't have a mother to make a card for; all he had was Dean and occasionally his father, when he wasn't off on a hunt. Sam, at eight years old couldn't remember a thing about Mary Winchester, it wasn't her fault she had died when he was six months old, if she had had a choice she never would have left him to this life, but she had cruelly been ripped away from her husband and sons.

Sam glared at the paper trying not to cry, he didn't want his teacher to know, he didn't want anyone to know. He looked around at all the other kids, happily cutting and pasting and glittering away their stupid cards. 'It wasn't fair!' Sam thought as he crossed his arms and glared even harder at the table top deciding to ignore the whole thing completely and then it might just go away.

One of the mother's pointed over and Mrs. Green looked to see who she was pointing at, it was little Sam Winchester. They Winchesters were strange, Marcy Green knew for certain one thing, none of the staff at the school had met their father or even spoken to him, if one of them was sick neither of them showed up, no one had ever met Sam and Deans mother either, the whole family was quite odd if you asked Marcy. Sam was one of the moodiest children she had ever met, he was also more world weary than her World War II veteran of a father.

She sighed as she approached the glaring child knowing full well that she couldn't just leave him there. Marcy crouched down to level with the eight year old, "Hey Sam, what's up?"

"Nothing," he continued to glare at the table

"Don't you want to make a card for your mother?" she tried again to get this child to open up.

His glare increased and his frown depend, "No."

Marcy was shocked in all her years a child had never not wanted to make a card for their mother, "Well why not Sam?"

Sam turned his glare on her; it didn't suit his soft, sweet, and innocent face, "Because I don't have a mother." He said in a forlorn voice that broke Marcy's heart

"What do you mean Sam?"

He looked at her like she had just called him stupid, "It's exactly how it sounds. My mother died."

Marcy stared at him, trying to interpret the look in his dark green eyes. The child had a mask on, but his eyes betrayed him, they showed no sadness, only remorse and Marcy had to wonder why.

He sat their not responding to their stillness, neither one of them moved not even when Sam spoke again, staring beyond her at nothing, "I don't remember her, Daddy says that she died in a fire in my nursery when I was six months old, I didn't know her." He whispered barely audible.

Marcy saw the tears slowly spilling out of his crystal green eyes and making tracks down the brunette boys rosy pink cheeks. Marcy felt tears falling out of her own eyes as he swiped at the betraying tears, angry that he had let them loose. She handed him a tissue and said, "Don't worry about the card Sam."

He nodded sniffling and she walked over to the gathering mothers on the other side of the room.

The day didn't go by fast enough after that and Sam couldn't wait to find Dean and get home. Dean didn't understand why his brother was so anxious to get home to their empty house, Dad wasn't there, he was off on another hunt with Caleb and no one had been able to stay with them this time, so they were alone until Sunday.

Dean couldn't place his little brothers mood either, which was unusual for Sam, he was usually just hyper, he seemed slow right now for some reason. Dean knew something was wrong and he was going to get to the bottom of it no matter what, no matter if it took him all weekend.

The brothers went through their usual Friday night routine, Dean made dinner, they cleaned up, had some form of dessert, and watched TV. Dean was hoping Sam would say something first, but when he didn't Dean knew he would be, "So, Sammy, how was your day?"

Sam looked at him confused, "Are you okay?" the eight year old asked the twelve year old

Dean snorted, "I'm fine. Can't a big brother ask his little brother's day was?"

Sam looked at Dean skeptically, "A normal big brother can, but not you." Sam yawned causing Dean to look at the clock.

Dean scowled, "It's past your bedtime. We had better get you up to bed." Dean turned off the TV and the lights and followed Sam towards the stair in their cheep two story apartment.

Dean had gotten Sam to bed in his own room and was settling down into his own bed when he heard a thump outside in the hall. Dean sighed, grabbing the gun by his door; nothing was going to hurt Sammy on his watch.

Dean flipped on the switch, it was just Sam, "What are you doing out of bed?"

"I was going to the bathroom." Sam said

Dean sighed, "Alright Sammy, hurry it up."

Sam ran into the bathroom and took about ten minutes before running out and back into his room. Dean shrugged and turned off the light in the hall.

Dean was asleep when he felt the weight next to him, he cracked open his eyes to see what it was, while reaching for the knife on his nightstand. He looked down to see a mass of curly brown hair and green eyes staring back at him. Dean was puzzled, was it morning already? He turned his head away from the sweet angelic face of his little brother to look at the clock; it was one in the morning.

"What are you doing?" Dean finally asked Sam

"I couldn't sleep." He whispered

Dean sighed, knowing he wouldn't get any more than that tonight so he moved over to give Sam more room; he wrapped his arms around his little brother and rested his chin on Sammy's head. Dean softly sung a song to Sammy that their mother used to sing, even if Sam couldn't remember, it made Dean feel better, and soon Sam was asleep and so was Dean.

Saturday night went by much the same and Sunday didn't move by fast enough. John had called to say he wouldn't be home till late, which usually meant around three in the morning, so Dean got Sam into bed.

Sam staying in his own room didn't last long though. Around midnight Dean felt Sam crawling into his bed for the third night in a row. 'Hell, why did they even bother getting the kid his own room?!' Dean thought to himself as Sam pressed himself against Dean.

Dean felt himself sigh, "Sammy, you can't keep doing this."

He felt Sam shiver, "Please Dean."

"Have you been crying?" Dean asked worried

"No," he heard Sam sniffle

Dean wrapped his arms around Sam, "What's wrong Sammy?"

"Today is Mother's Day. We made cards in class on Friday; I never got to know Mom Dean." Sam sobbed

Dean pulled Sam closer to him wanting to protect him from this, wanting to shield him from the world. Dean placed his chin on Sam's head and sung himself and Sam to sleep again.

John walked into Sam's room to find him gone, trying not to panic he walked into Dean's room only to find both Sam and Dean in Dean's bed. Dean was hugging Sam close to him and had his chin tucked over Sam's head. Sam was curled up around Dean's arms. John walked into the room and pulled the blankets up and tucked them in around his boy's shoulders. 'If only Mary could see them now,' John thought as he stared at them sleeping wishing they could look that innocent and stay this happy forever.