1
June 1986
Sammy had only been four for a month when the Winchesters moved (again) into an apartment on Meyer Street. But, unlike the last two apartments (the only two places Sammy had really known as home), he really liked this place. If he had been older, maybe he would have noticed that it was small and rundown and not in a very nice neighborhood – but Sam was only four and so all he noticed was that there was a park across the street.
On one particularly beautiful Friday afternoon in June, just after school had let out for summer break, Daddy allowed Dean to walk Sammy over to the park – just the two of them! - while Daddy worked on his car (and cast a watchful eye on his boys and their surroundings) from across the street. Before they could cross to the park, though, Daddy had pulled Dean aside for his extra instructions – Sammy didn't need to hear them (again) because he knew what Daddy was saying: Watch out for Sammy, blah blah blah.
Sammy waited as patiently as a four year old could, practically salivating at the sight that was so close and yet so far. The Meyer Street Park was filled with swings and slides and seesaws... pretty much the stuff of four-year-old dreams. As soon as he heard his big brother's Yes, sir, he grabbed Dean's hand (his cross-the-street pass) and practically ran to the edge of the brown, barren lawn and then nearly dragged his brother across the lifeless street. Daddy returned to tinkering under the hood (where no one could see his fatherly, warm-hearted smile) of the car – every so often looking up to check on his boys.
Dean, as usual, had let Sammy lead the way. And Sammy, like a kid in a candy store (or a kid at a park), ran from one spot to the next to the next to the next with more energy than an adult could even dream of (even after their morning cup of coffee). He was having a blast and knew, for a fact, that he had the absolute coolest big brother around. He could see the looks of envy the other kids around his age were throwing his way as Dean kept up with Sammy and they had to wait on their slow-poke parents to follow them.
And, Dean would push Sammy on the swings (instead of swinging on his own), telling him when to pump his legs but still pushing so he swung higher than anyone. Dean knew the perfect way to push the swing so it felt like Sammy was soaring.
"Can I jump?" Sammy asked. He loved the weightless feeling of flying through the air when he jumped from the swing.
"Not just yet, Sammy," Dean told him. Dean also knew the perfect time to jump off a swing – the just-right place between boring and scary. "OK, get ready..." Dean told him after the swing slowed down a little. They counted off together, three, two, one – and Sammy jumped, giggling through the air.
When Sammy landed, he ran to the big tube slide, never once doubting that Dean would be there at the bottom to make sure he didn't fall. Dean could always tell by the height of the slide, the shininess of the surface, and how Sammy was sitting just where to stand to catch his little brother at the perfect time. Sammy wasn't sure if it was something his big brother learned in school or if all big brothers were just born with the knowledge.
Dean also knew where to sit on the seesaw so that his and Sammy's weights were balanced. Sammy never had to wait or look for another kid his size because Dean was always there and he was brilliant. And, Sammy knew that this skill was not acquired in school because Dean had been able to accomplish it for as long as Sammy could remember – before he even started school.
"What do you want to do now, Sammy?" Dean asked.
"Hey kid, you better not do anything else today. The park could be a dangerous place for you." Sammy and Dean looked up to see three boys, older and bigger than Dean, walk up to them.
"It's a park," Dean told the boy as he moved in front of Sammy. "What's so dangerous about it?"
The boy in the middle, obviously the leader, looked at his two friends. The three of them had surprised looks on their faces – they were so serious that it was almost funny (if they hadn't been scaring his little brother). The middle boy looked at Dean again and then pointed down at Sammy's left shoe.
"Its a beetle," Dean said as he watched the little round insect crawl over the Velcro strap of his brother's shoe.
"Yeah," the boy on the right said. "Don't you know what that means?"
"That we're outside... where there's bugs?" Dean tried.
"Kid," the boy on the left said with a mixture of exasperation and surprise, "its an omen... for death."
"What?" Dean asked, but then noticed that Sammy had now grabbed his arm tightly and was shaking.
"A beetle walking over a person's shoe means that they're gonna die," the middle boy told him matter-of-factly. "Probably soon. And today is not a day to be taking chances."
"Dean?" Sammy whimpered behind his brother.
"Its OK Sammy. Its just a superstition."
Sammy looked up at his brother with big, watery eyes. Dean took him by the hand and smiled reassuringly just as Dad called them home from across the street. They began to walk and the three boys backed up to give them plenty of room. They heard one mumble something about not wanting the bad luck to rub off and another call out to Dean to be careful around the little kid.
After getting home and washing up for dinner, Sammy relayed what the boys at the park had told them to Dad, ignoring the way Dean rolled his eyes at every detail. Dad, just like Dean, tried to calm Sammy down.
"Sammy, I know that there are a lot of scary things out there, but this is not one of them," Dad told him. "Its just an old superstition."
"What's a stuper-tition?"
"A superstition," Dean corrected him as he pulled three plates and three mugs from the cupboard, "is just some silly idea that something will bring you good luck or bad luck. Like knocking on wood or carrying a rabbit's foot will actually bring good luck. The rabbit started with four feet and they didn't do him any good!"
Sammy laughed at his brother and John smiled – not for the first time was he grateful for his older son's strange ability to make light of almost anything. Unfortunately, the crisis wasn't completely averted as Sammy remembered what else the boys had said.
"But why did they say it was 'specially bad today?" Sammy asked his dad.
For a moment, Dad and Dean were quiet. They looked at each other, trying to come up with a reason that wouldn't panic Sammy even more – it was bad enough that the kid was falling for some random superstition, they didn't need him to be afraid of a specific (reoccurring) date. When they both drew blank, Dad patted Sammy's head and mumbled something about not knowing why...
But none of that really mattered since that was the same moment the kitchen window 'sploded.
Well, it didn't really explode, but it sure seemed like it to Sammy. He barely had time to register the sound of shattering glass before he was being tackled, out of his chair and to the ground, only to be cushioned by Daddy's big strong hands under his head and back.
"Sammy," Daddy cried, though it was barely louder than a whisper, "you OK? Sammy?" He was still shielding the boy with his body while searching for injuries, silently thanking his years of military training and more recent demon hunting for keeping his reflexes sharp.
The kitchen was now quiet, except for Sammy's sniffles as he tried to stop crying. Too much happened too quickly for his four-year-old brain to comprehend. There was a slight stinging on his forehead above his right eye, but mostly he was just scared. He looked at his dad's worried face and nodded quickly, then wiped his sleeve under his nose.
John smiled and took a deep breath. It was OK – scary – but OK. He looked around to survey the damage...
That's when the calm broke again.
Lying in a crumpled heap on the floor in front of the window was Dean. John couldn't see the boy's face, as it was turned away from him, but he could see the bloody gash on the back of his son's head. He could also see shards of thick glass, some with blood on them, from the window circling Dean – along with some broken pieces of plates and mugs.
Though Sammy had been the one sitting at the table in front of the window, Dean had walked in front of it on his way to setting the table for dinner – at the exact right (or wrong) time. The ball would have hit Sammy straight in the face and done a lot more damage to a four-year-old than an eight-year-old (with a pretty hard head).
The thoughts flashed through John's mind before he was able to push them aside and regain control of his body. He half-crawled, half-lunged over to his older son. He did a quick assessment of the boy's injuries (head trauma, and no doubt, a concussion with various superficial cuts on his arms and face and chest from the broken glass and dishes) and determined that moving him (gently) would cause no further injury.
He scooped the boy into his arms and carried him to the car, all the while knowing without looking that Sammy was shadowing him. While he hated to add to the traumatic experience of his younger son, John told the boy to keep his brother as still as possible and laid the bleeding unconscious boy so that his head was in Sammy's lap.
Maybe it was the way the brain worked – coping with difficult situations. At four, Sammy didn't think about this sort of thing. All he knew was that the ride to the hospital went by as fast as if they were teleported, only he didn't think he heard anyone say Beam me up. The time between seeing Dean, his big and strong and fearless Dean, bleeding on the kitchen floor to now – sitting on Daddy's lap in the waiting area of the emergency room – was all a blur of fear and blood and fear and holding Dean tightly and fear and Daddy bursting into the ER yelling and fear and doctor's taking Dean away and fear.
Suddenly Sammy was very tired. He closed his eyes so that he didn't have to see Dean's blood on his clothes and soon, with the help of Daddy's anxious rocking, he was asleep.
"Sammy," the deep voice said softly, pulling Sammy slowly out of his sleep. "Sammy, we can see Dean now. He's OK and we can go in and see him."
Between the rush of memories and the sight of his brother's blood all over him, Sammy barely had time to lean forward before vomiting every meal he had eaten in the past three days. Somehow he managed to miss John completely, but his clothes were now covered in two upchuck-inducing substances.
Two nurses took pity on the poor, now-sobbing, little boy. One brought him some spare scrubs to change into and the other gave him a warm washcloth and some water. After Sammy had calmed down a bit, one of the nurses led them to Dean's room, explaining on the way that Dean was awake but will most likely be a little confused.
Dean was no stranger to the emergency room. John had been training him for a few years now and had taken him on the occasional hunt; and Dean was an active boy who had been known to seek his adventures in some chancy ways and would stand up to a bully twice his size (or bigger) if necessary. He'd endured bumps and bruises and scratches and stitches – this wasn't even the first time he had been knocked unconscious (though it had been the longest).
Even taking all of this into consideration, it was difficult for both father and little brother to see Dean this way. The cuts had been cleaned and some were held together with butterfly bandages – many had begun to bruise. Under the colorful array was a pallid complexion and dull, barely focused hazel eyes.
John and Sammy stayed with Dean for the observation period, during which Dean slept a little, asked Sammy if he was OK more than a dozen times (having forgotten that he had already asked), asked John if they could paint his room because he didn't like white (which may have been a little funny if Dean had been joking), and sung random songs under his breath without realizing that he was doing so aloud.
Sammy couldn't decide if he should laugh or cry again. His big brother got his head broken and it was all Sammy's fault. He was the one that should've been talking nonsense and complaining about a headache. He was the one that the beetle gave the omen to (whatever that meant) – so the bad luck should've hit him. But, Dean had always been the one who kept him safe. Sure, he knew Daddy was strong and powerful and would keep all the really bad things away from them (kinda like Superman), but Dean was the one who stood right beside Sammy like a shield for anything that might slip through Daddy's defenses. Daddy was a bit larger than life for four-year-old Sammy, but Dean was his own personal hero (his Batman) and if Dean couldn't stop the bad luck from coming, he'd take it on himself so Sammy didn't have to.