A/n: Okay, this is ¾ of Toy Soldier. Hope you enjoy it.

Reviews are love.

EverReader

Disclaimer: Not My Sandbox

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September 1989

"Monsters aren't real."

Sam repeated this fact over and over again,a mantra to keep the fear at bay. But even at six, his clever mind was frightfully good at putting together facts, at gathering evidence.

The salt was meant to keep something out. Something that frightened Dean. Something outside their window, something bad.

But what was even worse, the salt had obviously failed. Something had come through, something monstrous had come in, through their window in the night. Something so bad that even their father, who wasn't afraid of anything, had fled from it.

How did one fight a monster that could defeat fearless fathers, and outsmart heroic big brothers?

"Looking awfully serious there, Sam."

Chuck, the church's old groundskeeper settled with rheumatic care into the swing beside him.

Sam smiled sadly back at him. He liked Chuck, like that he took Sam seriously, that he respected Sam's with to be called Sam and not Sammy, liked that Chuck seemed to actually see him, Sam, instead of just "John's youngest boy" or "Dean's little brother."

Chuck made Sam feel like an equal, like a real person.

Which was why Sam was so reluctant to voice his fears. Normally Sam would go to Dean with his problems, or Pastor Jim. Sam already knew, however, that neither would actually talk to him about any of this.

Chuck had often demonstrated his willingness to sit and listen to Sam's chatter for hours, patiently nodding as he trimmed the rosebushes or mulched the flower beds. Chuck liked to listen, and Sam liked to talk, just as he liked learning the names of the flowers, and following the bumble bees through the garden. He liked the peace and the sunshine. He though perhaps that's what Pastor Jim meant when he talked about "Sanctuary".

He was afraid if he voiced his fears, that old Chuck wouldn't take him seriously, would, in fact, give him that dreaded look that meant that once again, Sam was being a "difficult child".

"It's hard to help a plant grow strong until you learn about it, what it needs, if it likes sun or shade, lot's of water or hardly any. Gardening's a mite trickier than most would believe." Chuck said casually, staring off into the distance.

Sam could see Dean, still over at the garage with the bike. He had narrowed his eyes once in their direction before apparently deciding that Chuck was not a threat, but Sam wasn't fooled. Dean was more anxious than a cat on a hot tin roof these days, and it was only a matter of minutes at best before he fetched Sam closer.

Deciding he had nothing to lose, he turned to Chuck, twisting so hard his swing's chains twined together, nearly tangling as the words spilled from his lips.

"I think there's a monster that lives outside our window. It follows us, and it can get past the magic salt, but no one will tell me what it is or what to do 'cause I'm to little."

A long moment passed before Chuck said "I can see how that would be a problem." Sam studied Chuck's face but found no censure, no sign of laughter.

"I don't know what kind it is, or what it looks like or what it wants, but Dean's scared, an that mean's it's bad. Really bad."

Chuck took his time before answering. "So you need something to keep you safe from a monster?"

Sam frowned, trying to marshal his thoughts. "Not just me. Dean too. Dean always takes care of me, keeps ME safe. But I'm only six. I don't know how to keep Dean safe. And Dad's always gone..." Sam ended sadly.

It didn't deem right that Dean had to be afraid to sleep every night just cause Sam was too little to help keep them safe.

"And I don't even know what kind of monster it is..." He repeated sadly. Sam was pretty sure that was an important detail. His dad always said the devil was in the details, so Sam figured the same probably went for monsters.

Chuck whistled out a long, thoughtful breath. "Well, it's been my experience that there are all kinds of monsters in the world. And you're right. You're just a little guy. Don't seem fair for you to have to have to do it all by yourself. I'd say you need something that protects against all kinds of monsters."

"Like a talisman?" Sam offered helpfully. He had run across that word in a book at school, and remembered it because he had heard his father say it once or twice also.

"Yup. Just like, I'd say." Chuck agreed affably.

"But where do I get something like that?" Sam asked miserably.

"Bout that..." Chuck stood slowing,back creaking and popping as it extended. He reached a wrinkled hand into his overalls. Pulling it out again, he handed the small object to Sam.

Sam studied it furiously for a moment before a crushing sense of disappointment overcame him.

"That's just an old plastic soldier." He pointed out, frowning as he tried to decide if Chuck was teasing him after all. "I have five just like it in my bag." He added as an after thought.

"Looks just like an ordinary one, you're right." Chuck said as he held it out to Sam once again. "But this one's special. It's lucky. You can feel it, it you give it a moment."

Reluctantly, Sam closed his fist around the little green man, displaying all the skepticism his six year body could muster.

Slowly, like sunlight breaking through fog, a smiled stretched itself across his face.

He couldn't describe it, but Chuck was right. This one felt...different. It made him think about hot chocolate and lucky charms and lazy Saturdays in bed snuggled against his big brother, warm and safe.

It felt like getting a "A" on his spelling test and a bulls-eye with his BB gun and his father's approval and the sound a Dean laughing. It felt happy, and strong.

It felt like magic.

"Where'd you get it?" He whispered, afraid to destroy the moment, looking up at Chuck in wonder.

"Found it." Chuck replied.

"Didn't know what I was supposed to do with it, until now. Just knew it was special. Way I figure..." He scratched his eyebrow thoughtfully. "Magic like that ought to be enough to help anyone fight off a monster. Maybe it won't do it all on it's own, you mind, but it could help you do what's needed when the time comes. And maybe it could take a couple night time shifts for your brother while he gets some shut-eye." Chuck grinned, white teeth brilliant against his tanned, whiskery face.

"What do I do with it?" Sam asked hope warring with relief in his chest. It made no sense, but somehow, he knew it was true just the same. The little soldier was magic.

"Put that on yer windowsill, just inside the salt. He'll help you, when the time comes. Keep him close, he won't fail you."

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April 2005

Watching Dean die, watching as the Doctors and nurses scrambled around his big, strong, fearless older brother as he continued to flatline was the most excruciating thing Sam had ever experienced.

More painful than Jess's death, than learning the truth about monsters, about what happened to their mom.

He could almost hear Dean screaming at them, demanding that they get away. Unconsciously, he clenched his fist around the toy soldier in his pocket.

He didn't breath again until Dean did.

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Dean stared at Sam, begging him to see him, to hear him. For just a moment, as he'd fought off the reaper, he thought Sam had sensed something. But now he watched as his brother stood silent at the foot of his bed, motionless, a frightening stillness that reminded Dean of the night Jess had died.

Sam looked...small. And unbearably young. Dean wished Sam and Dad could stop fighting long enough to work together. The two of them were so incredibly smart, they picked apart patterns and clues with a breathtaking ease that sometimes left Dean feeling like he had been left at the side of the road. Together they could surely figure this all out.

But Dad was acting shifty, even Dean could see it. He was lying to Sam, that much was certain. Lying about the demon, about the demon's plans for Sam, maybe lying about all of it.

And Sam knew. Though to his credit, the only time he called him out on it was when Sam judged that John wasn't focused on Dean the way he should.

Dean was touched by how protective Sam was of him, how fiercely he fought for Dean while Dean could not. Not once had Sam talked about his own injuries, though from his limp and the way he caught his breath occasionally, Dean was guessing a bad knee and at least a couple of bruised ribs. And the swelling around his eye screamed concussion.

John had never even asked, and as worried as Dean was for himself at that moment, the part of him that was Sam's big brother kept flaring up, wanting to insist that Sam sit down, take some pain meds. Wanted to take a look at Sam's charts and get an idea of the the total damage. That was Dean's job, after all. John had opted out of most of that a long time ago.

But he couldn't do anything. Not for Sam, of their father or even himself.

He was alone.

"I have an idea, Dean." Sam whispered the words so softly Dean had to strain forward to catch them.

"I'm getting a little desperate here. I have to go get something, but I'm scared to leave. Afraid you'll be.." Sam paused, swallowing. "I need you to stick around a little longer, ok?"

Sam gently touched Dean's foot on the bed, and Dean watched his brother, looking at him in a way he hadn't been able to in such a long time.

Jessica, their father, Stanford, so much static had come between them. Dean was terrified he wouldn't get another chance to talk to his brother. If he died, Sam and his father wouldn't be able to come together, John would go off in an ever more violent spiral of revenge and violence.

Sam would be left alone to deal with whatever that yellow-eyed bastard had in store for him.

"Is this my fault?" He heard Sam whisper brokenly, a single tear running down his cheek. "If I had taken that shot..." He trailed off, staring at the machines breathing for his brother.

"No, Sammy, no, don't you do that!" Dean argued, desperate to be heard. In that moment he could have happily broken his father's jaw for even suggesting to Sam that this was his fault. Sam had chosen family and it was the only thing Dean had ever wanted from him.

He watched as Sam wandered to the window, shoulders hunched, like he was just waiting for the next blow.

"I'm gonna beat this, Sammy, just you wait and see. I'm not leaving you alone to deal with Yellow Eyes."

But Dean was worried he was going to have no choice but to do just that.

He watched Sam walk out of the room, head ducked down, probably still crying.

"Sammy..." He whispered brokenly. He wondered when the reaper would return, and if he could fight it off again.

Something on his windowsill caught his eye, and he walked over to it. His heart warmed at the sight of Sam's little toy soldier in the window, memories of Sam's childish assurances washing over him.

"It'll keep the monsters out, Dean. Just keep it close. You don't have to do it all on your own now. He'll help you. We just have to put him in the window, and then the monsters can't get back in."

Sam had left it in the Impala, when he left for Stanford. Dean had chalked it up to faith lost in translation as Sam grew older.

Now for the first time, he wondered if maybe Sam had left it to watch over Dean in Sam's absence.