"Sammy, Sa- Sam!" He finally stopped beating the shit out of his backpack, looked up at his elder brother with a hurt sort of rage on his face. Dean felt his heart break a little when he saw mist in the kid's eyes. It took him a moment to shake it off, then motion for Sam to come join him at the table. There was a soft scrape of wooden legs against stone tiles as they both took a chair, and as soon as they sat the younger boy near melted, shoulders collapsing and his face falling into weakly held hands. Silence. More silence. A muffled scream of anger from Sam before he crossed his arms on the table and hid his face completely. "Sammy... What the hell happened?"
It was a long time before he spoke again, and when he did it was through the material of his jacket sleeve, which he had clamped between his teeth where he still concealed himself. "I didn't ask to be a freak."
Dean's blood froze for a second before flowing once more. "Whuddo you mean?"
Suddenly blue-gray eyes were glaring at him from across the cheap wooden surface, seemingly red. There was no way that an eight-year-old should ever be so enraged about anything, should have cause to be. "THEY FOLLOWED ME, DEAN!"
It took nearly three hours to calm him down and have him explain: He was walking back to the motel from school- and Dean wasn't with him because he'd been on bed rest ever since he'd been knocked out by a ghost on the last Hunt, which had left him with a concussion and a cracked rib. A group of boys had happened to be walking the same way as him, but when they noticed him walking past the residential area of the town they began calling out to him, asking where he was going. After Sam unwisely responded with "home", the boys had suddenly turned aggressive, and begun to shout insults and throw out assumptions, at one point suggesting Sam was an orphan (which struck a nerve with him). They followed him almost all the way back, shouting at him, asking where his mommy or daddy was, asking where he was going, and by the time Sam got to the motel and slammed the door behind him, they all were running. It was this very loud slam that Dean had woken up to, and he was grateful that his concussion was almost gone, because the headache he got from it could have been much worse otherwise.
"It's okay," Dean said, his voice cracking a little as he gazed at his brother with wide eyes. The words were full of shock, and for good reason. Since when had Sam broken so easily?
"No, no it isn't," the kid replied, eyes heavy but tear supply diminished. "What if Dad doesn't come back one time?"
It clicked into place then. The boys had brought things up that Sam had chosen not to face, that both brothers had decided not to face, and now they had to. Dean felt like he was buzzing, his whole body vibrating, and eventually he stood up. Sam watched him curiously until he was motioned to follow, and they ended up taking a walk down the street to a barren gas station market, where Dean payed for two candy bars and a fountain soda to share with some crumpled bills from his pockets. They sat just on the outer reach of a circle of illumination cast from one of the streetlights near the squat building, eating and drinking in near silence.
"No matter what, I'll be here, okay?" The elder Winchester said suddenly, examining his half-eaten chocolate with more interest than it deserved. After a moment he turned his attention to his brother, who was watching him with a sort of longing.
"You promise?" he said softly. Dean nodded a little in thought, then darted out his hand, which returned back into their view with a small stem clasped in his fingers.
"I swear on this thing," he said, the puff already losing a few seeds due to the breeze.
"I thought those were for wishes," Sam pointed out, an unexpected quirk of amusement pulling at the corner of his lips. A car passed by, the lights flashing over them for a moment before roaring away into the night again. It was dark, sleek, black- for just a moment the boys followed it with their gazes. They knew well that it wasn't the 1967 Chevy brand car they were hoping it was, but still they looked. It was in this rare type of instance that false hope was better than no hope at all.
After a short span of shared disappointment, Dean reverted back to the matter, shifting to face Sam more. He gave a small sigh, looking at the object he'd just plucked from where it had grown in a crack in the pavement. They were stupid, they'd always been stupid, but still the little plant made him feel like he had some control over something, like he had a say. He knew that Sam felt the same way, and that was why the dumb things held such a genuine status in their minds. It wasn't a game to them, like most children. It was real, and the reason it was real was to contradict the reality of their lives that should have only been in scary stories.
"They're promises now too, okay?" he said, staring at his brother with grim seriousness to his eye. Sam's smile fell away, and he watched on with expectation. Dean turned away, and closed his eyes.
"I swear to protect my little brother no matter what, always," he said with definition, and then he audibly blew out. The white tuft dispersed through the air, carried through the light and then out of it, floated into the dark. Dean turned back with a sad smile, his youth gone. "I mean it."