"Dean," Sam whispered into the dark the following night. "Dean… there's… there's something in the closet."
"There's nothing in the closet, go to sleep," Dean mumbled sleepily.
"No I swear," Sam whispered, pushing himself up on his elbows. "I saw it, there's something there."
"Then go check it out," Dean said rolling over to face the wall. "And let me sleep."
"Too scared," Sam replied. Dean could hear his little brother's voice shaking. "What if it's, like, a ghost or something."
"There isn't a ghost," Dean moaned. "It's fine."
"What if it gets me?"
"It's not gonna get you," Dean answered. "There's nothing there."
The boys lay there in silence for a while, Dean listening to Sam's shaky breath as he tried not to cry. Dean let out a long exasperated sigh, flipped the covers off him and stocked over to the closet.
"See, Princess," Dean huffed. "Nothing in the closet."
"Ghosts are invisible, Dean" Sam protested.
Dean rolled his eyes and made his way to the kitchen in search of a container of salt. He then laid a circle around Sam's bed.
"Ghosts can't cross the salt line," Dean explained. "Now go to sleep."
"How do you know?" Sam asked curiously.
"Learned it in fourth grade," Dean answered, climbing into his bed. "Now shut up."
"You did not," Sam whined. "They don't teach stuff like that at school."
"You're not in fourth grade," Dean sighed. "I'm tired, Sammy. Just go to sleep please. And you're sweeping the floor in the morning before Dad sees that mess. I'm not getting yelled at because you're a baby."
"I'm not a baby," Sam answered.
"Less talking, more sleeping."
"Did you learn about ghosts from Uncle Bobby?" Sam asked.
Dean sighed and turned to face Sam. "Why?"
"Cuz one time, I was talking to him about zombies and she showed me this book filled with all sortsa myths about zombies and werewolves and stuff."
"Why did you need to know about zombies?" Dean sighed.
"I saw this movie on TV," Sam said matter-of-factually. "They was eating people so I asked Bobby about them. If they really ate brains and stuff. And he gave me this big book. So I read it and it was super weird. I didn't understand a bunch of it cuz it was for grownups, but it was kinda cool."
"Why didn't you ask me?" Dean questioned.
"Cuz you don't have giant books about zombies hanging around," Sam answered. "Have you seen some of the books Uncle Bobby has? He has, like, every book ever, about everything. It's better than a library."
"You're a nerd," Dean stated with a yawn.
"No I like to read," Sam spat.
"Aren't you tired," Dean yawned. "It's three in the morning."
"I guess," Sam shrugged.
"Then GO. TO. SLEEP." Dean said through his teeth and flipped his covers over his head.
"Dean…" Sam whispered again right as Dean started to reach sleep.
"Sleep," Dean moaned in response. "Just close your eyes and go to sleep."
"Are zombies real?" Sam whispered. "Cuz in that book, it said that they are."
"No Sammy," Dean sighed. "They aren't."
"Then how come Bobby's book said they were?"
"You know what fiction is?" Dean asked.
"It's when a book is made up," Sam answered.
"Well," Dean yawned. "There you go. Wake me up again and I'll kill you."
The light in their bedroom flicked on at five a.m.
"Up and at 'em boys," John called as the boys moaned and shielded their eyes. "What the fuck happened in here?"
"I just fell asleep," Dean moaned pulling his blankets over his head. "It's Saturday."
"Why is there salt everywhere?" John demanded.
"Because Sam's a baby," Dean whined, voice muffled by the comforter. "Just a few more minutes. Sammy kept me up half the night."
"You're cleaning this mess up," John said. "Now."
Dean moaned sleepily. "Later."
"Get out of bed," John growled, his boot on the side of Dean's bed shaking it. "Let's go, Sam's already dressed."
"But it's the weekend," Dean pulled his covers tighter around his face.
"You have two minutes to get our ass dressed in the living room," John sighed. "Or I'm dragging you out and you can go running in your underwear."
Dean moaned.
"Not kidding," John said, pulling the sheets back. "Two minutes."
Dean rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he laced up his shoes in the living room; Sam bouncing next to him, full of way too much energy for someone who'd gotten such little sleep. If Dean was more awake he'd punch him.
"Let's go," John ordered, and the boys jumped, nothing like a three mile run for no reason at five o'clock on a Saturday morning. Dean had gotten used to not doing this the longer they stayed in Mississippi, for whatever reason his dad had become a little laid back, but now, especially since he needed Sam to learn how to fight, he'd decided to pick right back up again. He hadn't missed a moment of this. His bed was warm and comfortable, especially on weekends.
Dean collapsed, sweaty and exhausted into his bed as soon as he could.
"Clean up your mess, Dean," John boomed through the house.
"It's Sam's mess," Dean answered. "I'm tired."
"I asked you to clean it," John responded. "Just do as you're told, and don't talk back."
"Yes, sir," Dean mumbled rolling off his bed. This was stupid. Why couldn't his dad just understand that he was tired?
Dean swept the bed room while Sam sat in front of the television watching cartoons. Crap like this always happened to him. He was the oldest so he got blamed for everything. It was like Sam could do no wrong. He placed the broom and dustpan back where it belongs and flopped onto the couch next to his brother.
"Go take a shower," John instructed.
"Why?" Dean moaned.
"I told you to," John answered, annoyance heavy in his voice.
"Why doesn't Sammy have to do anything?" Dean whined.
"I already took a shower," Sam answered not turning from the television. "Right when we go back."
"Dean," John said. "Just do what I say, understand?"
Dean sulked off to the bathroom, rejoining his brother and father at the kitchen table for breakfast afterward. John was passing out toasted frozen waffles and microwaved bacon.
"What's your problem today?" John asked as Dean slumped into his seat.
"I'm tired." Dean grumbled. "I already told you eighty times."
"Go to bed on time," John replied.
"I did," Dean insisted. "Sam woke me up in the middle of the night to talk about zombies and ghosts. It's not my fault. I was sleeping and he woke me up for no reason."
"There's something in the closet!" Sam exclaimed.
"No there isn't," Dean rolled his eyes. Why couldn't Sam just listen? Now their dad was going to make a huge deal about it. Sam didn't even know what he was talking about. He was hearing things in his sleep, Dad would never let live in a house with anything evil in it.
"Is that why there was salt all over the floor?" John asked.
Dean nodded.
"There's something in our closet," Sam insisted, mouth full of waffle. "I can hear it scratching."
"There's nothing in the freakin' closet," Dean groaned. "I told you."
"You can't see ghosts, Dean," Sam sighed. "You can never be sure. There could be a hundred million ghosts in this room right now. You don't know."
"That's not how ghosts work, you idiot," Dean answered.
"How do you know?" Sam spat. "You hang out with a lotta ghosts, jerk."
"It's common sense," Dean said. "You're just making stuff up and pretending it's true."
"I read it in a book, Dean," Sam said rolling his eyes. "I'm not just makin' it up. Ghosts are projections, you can't see them. They're like smoke."
"Both of you knock it off," John sighed. "What's going on with the closet, Sammy?"
"Nothing!" Dean whined. "There's nothing there, Dad. I checked it out."
"Sam," John said, ignoring Dean completely.
"Something was scratching," Sam said softly. "I guess that Dean couldn't hear it, but it was there. I swear. Dean looked cuz I was too scared, and said that there wasn't nothing, but I think there was. Uncle Bobby gave me a book about zombies and werewolves and stuff and there was a part about ghosts and it said that ghost can make noise. So I think it's a ghost. And what if it tries to get me?"
"It's not gonna get you cuz there's nothing there!" Dean growled through gritted teeth. "Tell him!"
"You want me to check it out, kiddo?" John said, eyeing Dean.
"I know what to do, Dad," Dean sighed. "I'm not stupid, I checked it out already."
"Then why the salt?" John half smiled.
"He wouldn't shut up," Dean said clenching his jaw. "And I wanted to go back to sleep. And since Sammy doesn't know nothing about ghosts and other stuff I told him it couldn't get past the salt line to shut him up."
"You just made that up?" Sam said quickly.
"No, Sammy," John answered. "That shoulda been in the book Bobby gave ya."
"Are you done breakfast?" Dean interjected. Sam nodded slowly. "Why dontcha… why dontcha go outside and play for a bit? Dad and I'll check out the closet, alright?"
Sam stood up slowly and placed his plate in the sink, then sighed and turned back to the table. "Only if you tell me what's goin' on."
"Just go play outside for a minute," Dean repeated.
"You're not the boss of me, Dean," Sam said glaring.
"Yes I am," Dean said through clenched teeth. "Go. Outside."
"Dad, you can't just let him boss me around all the time," Sam whined. "It's not fair."
"Go outside, Sammy," John nodded. "Listen to your brother."
Sam stomped his foot and stormed out slamming the door behind him.
"He doesn't know anything," Dean whispered harshly, because he knew Sam was sitting under the open living room window listening. "He's eight, Dad, he doesn't need to know. He's just being a kid. Kids are scared of dark, there's nothing there. I know what to look for. You and Bobby taught me everything. I just wanted him to shut up so I could go to sleep."
"Maybe it's time he learned," John said. "He'd be good with research and stuff. Bet he can pick up victim patterns real quick. He's smart, Dean, I can use him."
"He's eight," Dean said seriously.
"What were you doing when you were eight?" John argued. "You'd been helping me out for a year, been on a hunt."
"I was bait," Dean hissed. "I don't want that for him."
"You're not the parent," John spat. "You don't get to make choices for him. I think I'm more than capable of raising my own kids without help from a twelve year old."
"Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep this secret?" Dean said. "You know how hard it is when you're a little kid with this giant secret and you can't anyone and kids at school talk about ghost and werewolf stories and you know they're full of crap because you've seen a werewolf but you can't say anything. I don't want that for him. Physical training is one thing, Dad but you can't… you can't tell him. He's too little."
"He's gonna figure it out," John shrugged. "Might as well just tell him. I don't want him to think I've been lying to him his whole life."
"Let him figure it out on his own, Dad," Dean said slumping back in the chair. "It's better than having it thrust at him. I want him just be a kid for a little bit longer. I know you don't get it, but I feel like I have to be a grown up all the time. I mean, you not home, and someone's gotta watch the kid. I don't want him to feel like he's gotta be a grown up too."
John put his elbows on the table and his head in his hands.
"Just…" Dean continued. "Just humor him. Look in the closet and tell him nothings there. Look up something in a random book and tell Sam that's how you get rid of ghosts so he shuts up. I know he's smart and you wanna use it, I understand, but he's just a little kid. I think he'll understand when he's older. I think he'll get why we didn't tell him. It's safer if he doesn't know."
John nodded. "Yeah," he whispered. "Yeah I guess you're right. Keeping you boys safe is the most important thing. I'll let him figure it out on his own."
"I mean," Dean sighed. "I don't want to tell you what to do, but you know, he's my little brother."
"No," John nodded. "I get it. Go, um… go play with him before he gets suspicious."
Dean picked up his and his father's breakfast plates before heading outside to play with Sam. Hopefully his dad would listen, he knew it wasn't one of his dad's strong suits, but Dean felt like he had the upper hand with this one. Sam didn't need to grow up yet. Sam needed to be carefree and laugh and play kickball with the neighborhood kids on weekends. He didn't need to stay up wondering when Dad would be back or if it was too soon to call Bobby and say their dad was gone for too long. Sam needed to just be a little kid for a little while longer. That's all Dean wanted in the world.