First days were always difficult and Dean Winchester's first day of first grade was absolutely no exception. Pastor Jim had taken him over the summer for testing, and they found that he knew all of his letters, how to count to one hundred, his colors, shapes, and how to spell his name.
The teacher who tested Dean was shocked that he could not only spell his name out loud, but could write it down, and that his letters were neat and precise. What she didn't know was that the last thing Mary Winchester had taught her son was his name. Dean was so worried that he would forget his mom, because since they had moved he had a hard time remembering his house, and he had a hard time remembering his toys or the backyard, and he didn't want to forget his mom. The only way he knew how to remember his mom was to practice spelling his name. He practiced all of the time. While he sat in the car he would lick his finger and then trace the outlines of the letters with his little finger on the seat, when he got to Pastor Jim's he practiced his letters in the dirt while he was outside playing. He recited the letters when he lay in bed waiting for everyone to leave him along long enough to get into bed with his baby brother.
He would remember his name; he would remember what his mommy said. His mommy said that his name told everyone around him what kind of man he was. She told him that it told everyone that he belonged to her and to daddy and then when little Sammy was born, she told him that it told people who Sammy belonged to. It was the last connection he had with his mother and he was determined not to forget it.
His determination to remember how to spell and write his name earned him a spot in the first grade, instead of kindergarten, with children his own age. The first day was harder than Dean or the two male adults in his life expected.
John woke Dean up and pulled him away from his little brother's side and told him he needed to get himself dressed. Dean not only got himself ready but he got Sam up and dressed as well. Dean toted the tired two-year old with him into the kitchen. Sam rubbed his eye and yawned.
"Dean, why did you get Sam up?" John asked calmly.
"He's going to school with me sir." Dean said softly. Dean spoke now, but he most certainly didn't speak loudly enough for many to hear him.
"Dean, he's too little to go to school." John reasoned. Dean's eyes widened a touch and he looked down at Sam and then to his father. He chewed his lip nervously.
"I don't want to go if Sammy can't go." John's fears were realized with his son's statement. Dean hadn't left his brother's side in the year since Mary had died. He slept with Sam, he played with Sam, he talked to Sam, who was now starting to actually speak as well, and he watched the kid all of the time. He never left Sam's sight.
"Dean, when Sammy is a big boy, like you, he'll go to school too. Don't you want Sammy to go to school?" Dean thought about it for a minute and then nodded. "I thought so. Come on, eat your breakfast and then we need to get you to school." Dean nodded, but his fear didn't go away.
Dropping Dean off was harder on Sammy than on anyone else. The moment Dean got out of Sam's sight, the younger boy squirmed in John's arms and when John wouldn't let him go, he reached out an arm and opened and closed his fist and said, "Dee, Dee" then looked at his father and repeated himself.
"No, Sammy. Dean has to go by himself." Sam's little face scrunched up and a tears fell from his big eyes.
"Dee, Dee!" he demanded again. Instead of letting him go like he wanted, John turned away from the son who was walking towards his first day of school and walked Sam and himself back to the car. Sam started wailing as soon as his father turned, and he didn't stop until they went and picked Dean up. As soon as Sammy saw his brother in the crowd he ran, screaming "Dee! Dee!" Dean hurried to his little brother and hugged him.
"Dee, pway."
"We'll play when we get home." Dean said softly. He let his little brother go and took his hand and they walked back to their father.
"How was school son?" John asked. Dean shrugged.
"Did you like your teacher?" Dean shrugged again. "Did you make any new friends?" Dean shrugged his shoulders once again. "Son, answer me." He didn't. He simply got into the car and waited to be driven back home.
That night he got into his brother's crib, laid down next to him, got comfortable, and whispered. "Everyone else's mommy dropped them off, and gave them kisses. I miss my momma." He said and started to cry, his only comfort being his little brother, who was sleeping soundly next to him.