By the summer of 1986 Dean was seven years old and he'd been to so many places that sometimes he'd forget where he was. What's more, they'd been left alone, just him and Sammy, enough times now that it actually felt comfortable to Dean.
In fact, their dad's presence was sporadic at best, and when he was home he was didn't want to play anymore. He just sat by himself most of the time drinking whiskey—that stuff he told Dean was just for grownups—and reading his books. Dean knew not to bother him when he was busy like that because it just made his dad mad or sad. Dean didn't like either of those, so he tried to leave him alone. Sometimes it was hard to keep Sammy busy though, because when their dad was home all Sammy wanted to do was crawl all over him. Dad usually let him for a while, but he'd get tired of it once he had the whiskey, and then Dean would have to take Sammy to do something else.
It was summer in Georgia, so it was sweltering, the heat hanging thick like a cloud of smoke, sticking to their skin and making them sweat. Dean couldn't remember a time when he'd been warmer, and one look at little Sammy revealed he wasn't the only one suffering. Now that Sammy was mobile he was everywhere, into everything, and so fast it was hard for Dean to catch him sometimes. Sammy thought it was really funny to run and hide from Dean because he liked to be chased. Sometimes Dean liked it too, but sometimes it just made him tired.
Dean looked out the window and he could see other kids his age playing; some of them rode their bikes, skated, and played tag— all kinds of fun things. Dean looked over at Sammy and back outside, knowing that his dad said they weren't allowed to leave the apartment when he wasn't home. He said Sammy was still too little to go outside without an actual grown up, even though Dean was really good at taking care of him.
Dean looked outside again and wondered what it might be like to play with those kids; he wondered what their names were; he wondered where they lived; he wondered if they were nice or if they'd share their toys with him; he wondered if maybe he could make a friend from one of them. But then he looked back at Sammy, who was sleeping on the couch, and he knew he couldn't go outside and leave him alone. It was too dangerous because Sammy was still little.
"Dean, I hungwy."
Sammy was awake now, his little cheek red from where he was sleeping on his side. He reached up and tugged on Dean's shirt, his deep hazel eyes shining, looking up at Dean expectantly. Sammy had a little streak drool drying in the corner of his mouth and a ring of sweat around his neck. Dean smiled at his brother, wondering how on Earth he managed to get dirty in the apartment.
"Ok. What do ya want, buddy?"
"Cookies."
Dean laughed. "You can't have cookies for dinner, Sammy. But if you eat all your food you can have one for dessert, okay?"
"Why?"
This was a new phase his little brother was going through; Dean called it the 'why phase,' and he was much more tolerant of it than their dad was, even though it annoyed him too. Ever since Sammy really started talking he never stopped—he wanted to know everything. He was only three, but he wouldn't accept 'because I said so,' for an answer to anything. Dean had to admit it was fun being able to talk to Sammy now, but when he did that for long enough it was super hard for Dean not to yell at him.
"Cause you have to eat real food first. It's the rules."
"How come, Dean?"
Dean sighed. "Well, if you eat cookies first it makes it harder for you to grow and you'll be small forever."
Sam's eyes grew wider than Dean thought possible and his mouth popped open. He cocked his head to the side, like he might not believe it, but Dean gave him a reassuring nod and put on his most serious face. Sammy studied him for a minute but it was clear—he either believed Dean, or he didn't want to chance it.
"Mac an cheese pwease!" He giggled, like it was the funniest thing ever. Sammy liked rhyming words now.
"Comin right up." Dean smiled. "It'll take a little bit cause the waters gotta boil, kay? Go play with your toys or watch some T.V."
"Can I help, Dee? Pwease?" He clenched his fists together like he was praying and thrust them out to Dean, begging.
Sammy always wanted to help in the kitchen now, which was both fun and hard because he was messy and got in the way, but sometimes Dean didn't mind it. He looked out the window again, but it was getting dark and the kids had almost all gone home for the evening. Dean smiled down at Sammy; tonight he didn't mind it. He wanted the company, and since Sammy never stopped talking now, he could try to forget about playing with the other kids.
Macaroni and cheese was always good and Dean loved it, but not as much as Sammy. He looked over at his little brother, who had cheese all over his face, even in his hair. There were stray noodles all around him, like fallen soldiers on the battlefield. Sammy was grinning, stuffing fistfuls of the stuff into his mouth. His t-shirt had crusty, dried cheese all over it, and even though Dean couldn't see to know for sure, he was pretty positive it was all over his pants too.
"Sammy, use your spoon."
Sam wrinkled his nose. He was holding a handful of macaroni up to his mouth, but paused after Dean said something to him. "Why?"
"Cause Sammy, that's what spoons are for. Animals eat with their hands, people eat with spoons."
Sammy giggled at him. "I an anlimal too, Dean!"
He shoved the fistful into his mouth, laughing. Little pieces fell out and landed on the table and floor. Dean groaned inwardly, but he didn't let Sammy know he was annoyed because he would think it was funny. And if he didn't—well, Sammy hated it when Dean was mad at him. Sometimes he even cried.
"Sam, If you don't use your spoon you can't have a cookie later."
His saucer eyes appeared again, giving Dean a puppy dog look. Dean looked away because he couldn't resist it. "Pwease, Dean? I wanna be a montey. Monteys use hands, see!" He held his hands up in the air, as if to show Dean.
"Sorry, buddy. Use your spoon or you don't get that cookie."
"You mean." Dean ignored him and Sam started using his spoon. It was hard for him to scoop the food up, Dean knew, but he was getting better at it.
After they finished eating Dean kept his promise and let Sammy have a cookie. There was only one left, and Dean really wanted it, but Sammy crammed it into his mouth before he got a chance to ask him to share. Dean was bummed because they never got cookies; Daddy said they were a waste of money, but sometimes he'd buy them anyway when Dean and Sammy were real good while he was gone. So yeah, Dean was sad, but Sammy was grinning with chocolate all over his lips, and Dean had to smile back.
"Okay Sammy, it's bath time."
"Take a baf!" Sammy squealed.
He still loved to take a bath, which Dean was grateful for because Sammy sure could get messy. Dean liked it too because now they could splash in the tub as long as he was careful and didn't get Sammy in the face. It was pretty much the same as it always was, except that now the tub was full of Sammy's dinosaur toys. Sammy loved dinosaurs right now. Sometimes when their dad was home, they'd go outside and Dean would help him dig for bones.
"Rawwwrrr...I eat you, Dee, run!"
Sammy made the dinosaur chase Dean. Dean pretended to be scared, faked a scream, and hid behind the shampoo bottle. That got Sammy laughing hysterically, which caused Dean to crack up too. They played like that until the water started to cool off, and then Dean had to get serious. Lately this was the hard part.
"I don't wanna wass hair."
"Sammy, we have to wash your hair."
"Why?"
"Cause it's dirty."
"Don't wanna."
"Come on, Sammy. Even baby dinosaurs let their brothers wash their hair."
"They don't hab hair, Dee."
Why was this kid so smart already? It took another twenty minutes to get Sammy to let Dean wash his hair and body off. He ended up having to wait him out, which was Dean's least favorite way. When the water started getting cold and Dean refused to warm it up, Sammy agreed to let him do it. Dean warmed the water then, washing Sammy's whole body and his hair. By the time they were done the floor was soaked, and Dean knew he'd have to wipe it up in the morning, but he was too tired right now and Sammy still wasn't ready for bed.
Once they were dried off and Dean was dressed, he helped Sammy into his pajamas. He liked to do as much of it himself as he could, but Dean still had to help him put his underwear on, because otherwise Sammy always got it twisted up.
"Open your mouth."
"Why do we have ta bruss our teef every day?"
"Because you like to eat cookies so much."
"Huh?"
"If you eat cookies and don't brush your teeth, they turn icky green and all fall out."
"Eww! You lying, Dee."
"Why do you think I brush my teeth every night?"
Sam considered this. "Otay, but can I bruss by myself?"
"Tell ya what. You brush first and let me go back over it just in case you missed something, okay?"
"Otay, Dean."
When it was finally time to go to bed, Dean remembered the mess in the kitchen. He groaned. "Lay down, Sammy. I've gotta clean up the kitchen."
"No, Dean I can't sleep wifout you."
"I'll be back in a little bit, okay?"
Those little hazel eyes filled with tears, and Dean relented. "Okay, look. You lay down on the couch while I clean up. You can see me from the living room. How does that sound?"
Dean pushed a chair up to the sink. There weren't many dishes, but they were caked with the orange cheese, crusty and dry. The table and floor were both sticky—Sammy had made sure of that. He groaned as he scrubbed them clean, throwing the dish rag into the hamper when he was done. Their dad hated a mess and Dean didn't know when he'd be home for sure, so it was important that he clean up before bed.
"Okay Sammy—"
He was sleeping, snoring lightly. Dean didn't wanna wake him, so he scooped him up, carrying him quietly to the bedroom. Geez Sammy got heavy. His tiny body shook when he laid Sammy down on the bed, jolting awake.
"Dee...wanna sleep wif you. Pwease?"
"Okay, Sammy."
Dean laid down beside his little brother and wrapped an arm around him, even though they were both sweating. Sammy squirmed and made a little groaning noise, obviously asleep again already. Dean knew he needed to try and go to sleep too, because Sammy never slept late and he'd want breakfast as soon as he woke up. Dad always said that Sammy ate like a little piggy now.
But it was so hot and even though Dean was tired, he couldn't stop thinking about stuff. Those kids outside were laughing so hard earlier, their smiles almost as bright as Sammy's. He wanted to go play outside with Sammy; he wanted to go play outside without Sammy—just for a little while. He wanted to play tag; he wanted to go roller skating; he wanted to ride a bike. But he'd never be able to, maybe not ever. And Dean guessed that was okay, because he understood why.
He still wanted his daddy to come home and smile at him, make him dinner and maybe even give him a bath like Dean gave Sammy. But Dean knew what his daddy was doing was important—it was his job now that mommy was gone, just like taking care of Sammy was Dean's job now. Daddy said that Dean's job was just as important as his, so Dean always made sure to do his best so his daddy would be proud of him and Sammy would be safe and happy. Dean squeezed him tighter. Maybe Dean couldn't do all those things that he wanted—but here, now, feeling Sam breathing beside him, he knew it was worth it.