Dean's last day of first grade was field day at Sioux Falls Elementary, which mean that the kids got to play outside all day. They played capture the flag and freeze tag and everyone's favorite gym games all day. Dean was a little bit upset that he wouldn't see Miss Sherry again. Dad told him that they'd be packing up and leaving as soon as he got home from school that day. Before it was time to leave for the summer, while everyone else was having a last go on the playground, Dean found is way over to where his teacher was sitting in a lawn chair with a couple other teachers watching.
"Are you okay, Dean?" Miss Sherry asked, leaning forward.
Dean nodded, pulling at the sleeves of his well-worn plastic fireman jacket. "I just wanna talk to you. Cuz my Dad says that we're moving away and I won't live here no more, so you won't be my teacher."
"Oh," Miss Sherry smiled looking over to her fellow teachers as if to say, "This is that curious Winchester boy."
"Dad says that we can't stay here no more cuz he's getting restless and its better if we keep moving, and he didn't like staying in one place so long." Dean said. "I told Uncle Bobby that I liked it here, but Uncle Bobby says I have to do what my dad says cuz he makes the rules."
"Okay," Miss Sherry said, confused.
"Well," Dean took a deep breath. "You was the only one that was nice to me for a long time at school, and I'll be real sad when I don't get to see you no more. Cuz you didn't think I was dumb when I didn't know the answer and cuz you're my best friend asides Sam. And I'm really happy that you made me stay at school even when I say-ed I didn't wanna stay. I think I'm gonna kept doing school next year, where ever Daddy decides we're gonna live."
"Oh, Sweetie," Miss Sherry said sliding out of her chair and pulling Dean into a tight hug. "I'll miss you too. Why don't you go play until the buses get here?"
Dean smiled and nodded, helmet bobbing on his head, then turned and ran back toward the slide.
"Too precious," One of the other teachers said watching him run off.
"You ever have that student you just want to take home and protect?" Miss Sherry asked.
"Mary-Ellen," the other teacher sighed. "We can only do so much. He'll be fine."
"I don't know," Miss Sherry said. "That poor little boy, I wish I could do more. Save him. I mean, I told y'all about meeting his father, how abrasive he was to me asking simple questions, then came in that next Monday with the black eye. Kid comes in with bruises on his arms all the time, but he says they're from rough housin' with his little brother, who's two. The more I talk to him the more he talks about how he takes care of his brother because his Dad's busy. I just want to fix him. Told me he's in charge of making sure he eats dinner and has a snack, even if he's at school, like the has to get it ready so their Dad won't forget. It's, I don't know, I just wanna save him."
"We can't," the other teacher sighed. "We can only make sure he's safe here, and from the sounds of what he just said, you did that. That little boy loves you. Maybe that's enough."
"I doubt it," Miss Sherry stated. "Not if he's not here for someone to watch over him. The Uncle Bobby he talks about seems to be a protector, but his Dad's taking them away from him too. I'm worried."
"It's not our business," The other teacher said. "We can't do anything about anything that happens outside these walls."
"I know," Miss Sherry sighed. "Doesn't mean I don't wish I could fix it."
"You'll have students like that every year. You'll learn. It's only your second class. You'll find kids in much worse situations than that boy, I promise you. Some of the kids I've seen, he's pretty damn normal, well-adjusted considering."
"Better than he was on the first day, anyway," Miss Sherry agreed.
"Then you did your job Mary-Ellen. You can't kick yourself about should haves when you can't fix it."
"Dean always talks about building a time machine," Miss Sherry smiled. "Thinks he can fix the wrongs of the world if he was like Marty McFly, go back and save his mom, make sure no one is sad anymore. Maybe it's not such a bad idea."
On the bus Dean sat in the front seat like always, waving to Miss Sherry with a sad smile on his face as the bus pulled away. He held in his tears the best he could, because only babies cry, but that night, while Dad packed up the Impala because they were leaving in the morning, Dean cried as quietly as he could into his pillow.
"Deans," Sam whispered from across the room. "Is you sad?"
Maybe he wasn't as quiet as he thought.
"No, Sammy go back to sleep, we have a long day tomorrow."
"Why is you sad?" Sam asked. "Is you sad a cuz we has to go away from Uncle Bobby. A cuz I ask-ed Uncle Bobby if I was never seeing him again and he said he'd see me all the time."
"I'm not sad Sam, go to sleep."
"Deans," Sam whispered, his voice sounding much closer that before. "If you sad, I make you happy. Like when I falled cut my knee."
Dean rolled over to see Sam's face way to close to his own.
"Here," Sam said pressing something soft and kind of sticky into Dean's face. "Hold Cow, he protects me in the night time from scary things." He pressed the stuffed cow John has found at that yard sale the Christmas after Mary died into Dean's cheek.
"No Sammy," Dean mumbled. "Take your cow and go back to sleep before Dad comes in here and yells at us."
"I sleep in your bed with Cow," Sam said nodding. "So you don't be sad and I still has Cow."
"Fine," Dean said sliding over. "But if you kick me you're sleeping in your own bed."
Sam nodded quickly, and climbed up over Dean, pressing his face into Dean's side. "I like your bed better. You's warm."
The summer was endless miles of back roads and motels that probably weren't safe to leave a three and seven year olds in by themselves for a few hours let alone a few days. The boys were too little to notice, but John should have known better.
They were living in a cabin out in the woods in Alabama, one of John's contacts had a hunting cabin he was letting them live in, free rent was free rent, and it was better than some motel for a week or so. John wasn't on a case; he actually had time to spend with his boys. Sam was sound asleep on the thread bare couch in front of the television after crashing from an afternoon of too much candy because Dean hadn't learned to say "no" and Sammy had just learned how to perfect those puppy eyes when he said "please."
John set up a half dozen cans on the fence behind the house and handed Dean a sawed off shotgun that looked way too big in his hands.
"You wanna learn how to shoot Dean?" John said.
Dean nodded, the fire helmet sliding down his face.
"Then you're gonna hafta take that hat off so you can see."
Dean very reluctantly took it off and placed it on a low hanging branch next to him. "I get to have it back though, right? I can't be a fireman without it."
"Yeah," John said with little patience in his voice. "Now listen, you're gonna wanna line up the can in the sight." John demonstrated with his own gun. "Take a deep breath in, and then pull the trigger lowly as you breathe out." He fired and Dean watched the can on the end fly off the fence post. "Think you can do it?"
Dean nodded with his whole body. "I think so, Dad."
John moved the boy in front of him, helping him set up a good stance and held his arms at the right angle. "Go ahead."
Dean took a deep breath and lined up the next can, he watched as it flew off the fence, a big smile on his face. The next four were just as easy.
"Good Job, Buddy," John said rubbing his hair.
"I did good?" Dean smiled.
"Yeah, real good, Dean."
"Can we do some more?"
"Maybe after dinner," John smiled. "Let's go see if Sammy's woken up."
Dean looked up at his Dad, trying to remember the last time he saw him smile like that; it was probably before his mom went away. He'd never forget that smile; never stop trying to duplicate it.
"Deans," Sam said on one ridiculously hot July day in Northern Texas. "How come you don't do numbers no more?"
"What?" Dean said, looking up from Batman comic book.
"You's don't do the number," Sam said. "We leave-ed Uncle Bobby's and you don't do numbers. Member, you teach-ed me?"
"Yeah, Sammy," Dean answered. "School's over for now, so I don't have homework to do."
"So you can't teach-ed me?" Sam said rolling a one of Dean's matchbox cars along the dresser.
"Come here," Dean said, grabbing Sam around the waist and pulling him up on to the bed with him. "What do you wanna learn?"
"Everythin'." Sam said driving the car down Dean's arm. "I wanna be smart like you."
"I'm not that smart Sammy," Dean blushed.
Sammy nodded. "You's the smartest. Cuz you knows number and you can say words in books. I wanna teach-ed books, Deans."
"You want to learn to read?"
Sam nodded. "Learn books."
"Okay," Dean said. "Next time Dad brings us to the library I'll find some books for you to learn. I can teach you to write letters if you want. You can learn to spell your name."
"I knows how to spell my name Deans," Sam said. "S-A-M. Sammy."
"Close enough," Dean laughed. "But I can teach you to write it. And my name too, and Dad's and Uncle Bobby's."
"You know-ed all that?" Sam said, rolling his car down Dean's legs. "Did the pretty lady at school teach you?"
Dean smiled at the back of his little brother's head. "No, I learned it before school, when I was little like you."
"From Daddy? He learned you?" Sam asked.
"No," Dean said softly remember laying out on the living room floor of his old house with his mom while she taught him the alphabet using blocks that Sammy never got to play with.
"Uncle Bobby?" Sam said turning to look at Dean. "I was gonna ask him to learn me things but I didn't think he wanted to cuz he has to answer the phone all the time. And cuz you always teached me everything."
"No," Dean shook his head.
"We don't knows nobody else, Dean," Sam said seriously.
"Mom," Dean said softly. "Our mom taught me, when you was still in her belly. We made pictures for you room and stuff and I learned to write the letters and read."
"I don't knowed her," Sam said shaking his head. "Does Daddy knows her? Maybe she can learn me letters."
"Yeah, Daddy knew her." Dean breathed. "But she went away, Sammy. She can't teach you nothing now."
"Where did she go?" Sam asked.
"Just away," Dean sighed. "Look, if you don't tell Dad I told you about her, I'll try to teach you to write and read books."
"Okay," Sam nodded, taking his hand and zipping his lips. "I's go anofer question."
"What Sammy?" Dean laughed.
"Does I gets to go to school one day when I'm big?"
"Someday," Dean answered. "Not for a while, though."
"I wanna go to school," Sam sighed. "And I'll be really smart like you, but I wanna be smart afore I got to school so everyone will like me. And then I tell them that my big brother teached me everything for school. Then everyone will like you too, and no one will be mad and sad at you no more."
"You wanna color, Sam?" Dean asked leaning back to grab the coloring book off the night stand between the beds. "You can get the crayons from the duffle bag."
"Okay," Sam said, sliding off the bed. "But I think I colored all the dragons in that book."
"You can color something else," Dean suggested, thumbing through the coloring book he'd stolen from a Kmart when Dad refused to buy it for Sam when they went in to buy shoes. Sam started crying when Dad said no. Dean couldn't handle when Sammy cried.
Sam shook his head quickly. "I like dragons."
"Why?" Dean asked as Sam dug through the duffle bag they shared to find the twenty-four pack of Crayola's.
"I don't know," Sam shrugged. "I has dreams about them. They breathe fire. Sometimes Daddy's in my dream. I's sleeping and then the dragon comes, and then Daddy yells and then you is there and then I wake up."
"Is it a scary dream?" Dean asked. He remembered Dad telling him about the night their mother died and what he remember himself about that night. To him Sam's dream sounded just like that, but Sam was just a baby then. He couldn't remember it.
"Only some times," Sam said climbing back onto the bed. "Most the time, when I wake up I's just sad. It's sad dream. Not like the monster dreams. Them is scary. When I has the scary dream I go to your bed. I don't need to go to your bed when I has the dragon dream. I just hold Cow 'til I not sad no more and go to sleep again."
Dean nodded and helped Sammy find a comfortable place to sit on the bed.
"Does you like dragons Dean?" Sam asked.
"Not as much as you Sammy," Dean said. "I think you like them more than anyone."