SUMMARY FOR CHAPTER TWO: Dean (12), Sammy (7); The boys spend some time with Bobby Singer and Pastor Jim, long-time friends of their father, where they learn that there may just be more to life than death.
The first time that Dean and Sam Winchester were introduced to Bobby Singer, the crotchety old hunter who had been a long-time friend of their father, John, Sammy hid behind his big brother, holding tightly to the hem of Dean's old, faded t-shirt. Sammy, although generally a bright, cheerful sort of child, did not trust easily and tended to be extremely wary of strangers, especially those of whom their father thought so highly.
Upon the making of introductions between the little Winchesters and Mr. "call me Bobby, dammit" Singer, Dean, as usual had placed himself between his little brother and anything that might frighten Sammy. He stood with his feet wide apart, his arms crossed over his chest and a stern expression on his face as he stared the older hunter down. Dean's gaze began at Bobby's feet and then rose up to the fuzzy ginger beard sizing the man up, just as Bobby was doing the same to Dean and Sam as he gazed down at the boys.
Bobby surmised at once that the elder Winchester seemed to give just as well as he got. Although Bobby couldn't easily get a read on Sam, and although he wasn't at all certain about the littlest Winchester just yet, Bobby took a liking to Dean almost instantly. Bobby knew that he would be double-damned before he'd ever admit it to anyone, but he could see in Dean a fearless nature and an innate desire to protect his little brother, whereupon Bobby thought to himself, 'Yeah, I can work with this.'
The red-faced hunter was, by all appearances, gruff and sour with a quick, biting tongue and a jaded outlook on life. For the most part, he seemed thoroughly unimpressed by most things, as though he had seen and done it all, but he was, as their father had told Dean and Sammy on more than one occasion, "the best damned hunter I've ever worked with". Sammy may have been too young at the time to understand the gravity of those words coming from their father, but Dean realized at once that Bobby Singer had to be something mighty special to have earned John's respect.
Bobby's house as well as the surrounding property was a kid's paradise, especially if that kid was of an inquisitive nature like Dean or Sam. The inside of Bobby's house was decorated in a style of early American everything, with every nook and cranny packed with books, papers and every sort of reference material a hunter of monsters could ever need. There were several telephones on the wall in the kitchen as well, each labeled differently…"FBI", "Sheriff", "Police", and the like. The boys wondered why Bobby would have telephones labeled with the names of various law enforcement agencies, but they never dared to ask.
Sam, who had started school last year, was enchanted with the indoor space of Bobby's house. He loved to read and study and Bobby had books on nearly every subject imaginable, from cookbooks to Bibles in Latin and Greek to reference books on mythical creatures and urban legends. Sam pretty much had to be forced out of the house every day lest he succumb to the dust that covered everything indoors and forget what fresh air actually smelled like. Bobby could tell right away that Sammy yearned to learn about everything his father did, what his father hunted, and how he could be of use to the man. Bobby also had no trouble recognizing that Sammy felt he'd never measure up to John Winchester, and that recognition made Bobby angry.
Dean, on the other hand, hated being cooped up inside all day. His father had not insisted that his eldest son attend school, as the law demanded. Hell, they were never in any one place long enough for anyone to catch on if the boys weren't in school at all. And Dean did have to take care of Sammy all the years before the younger began school, so Dean never even had a chance for his own education, let alone a childhood. It was just one more thing that Dean was forced to sacrifice on the altar of 'family' for the greater good, John had told him, not that Dean ever minded in the least.
It was Pastor Jim, a minister and another hunter-friend of their father who had taught Dean to read. Dean and Sammy had stayed with the minister for just over a year while their father was hot on the trail of the yellow-eyed demon who had killed their mother. Sammy was two and toddling around getting into everything. Dean was seven at the time and hated being cooped up and forced to sit and study. Dean couldn't ever see himself using the useless knowledge that the minister was attempting to pour into his brain. And Dean's rebellious nature reared its head more than once.
Pastor Jim had finally broken down and told Dean that everyone needed to learn to read. He told Dean that the boy would never be able to help his father navigate by map or compass, nor would he understand how to give Sammy medicine correctly if he got sick, and giving Sam the incorrect dosage could be fatal. All of these could happen if Dean didn't learn to read. So, of course, when faced with valid arguments that seemed to Dean essential for the benefit of his family, the boy sanctioned study time. In between feeding and caring for Sam, Dean sat with Pastor Jim every day until he could read and write as well as if he had been in a classroom for years.
Dean also learned the basics of arithmetic and science, though again Dean was certain that he'd never use the knowledge he gained, until the validity of each subject was explained to him. Pastor Jim had told Dean that biology was important so that he'd be able to understand the physiology of the monsters they hunted. Chemistry, Pastor Jim explained, was important so that Dean would understand the various properties of combustion or chemical reaction that was always needed in the hunting business.
Dean soaked up the knowledge like a sponge, looking forward to the day when he could help Sammy with any homework that would be assigned to the younger. Dean also wanted to learn everything he could so that he might impress John when the elder Winchester deigned to remember his progeny and return to claim them. John, however, would always just grunt something unintelligible, or something that sounded vaguely like, 'book learning' and reach for another drink whenever Dean tried to tell him what he'd learned while John was away. The only knowledge that ever seemed to impress John Winchester had to do with guns, knives, and in general weapons of any kind.
Though Dean was grateful for everything that Pastor Jim had taught him, and the boys would see him many times over the years, it was Bobby who seemed to the boys their surrogate father. And it was the property that surrounded Bobby's home, to which Dean gravitated. The yard, if it could be deemed such, that surrounded Bobby's house was wind-swept, hard-packed dirt piled high with row upon row of wrecked and junked vehicles of every description which cleverly hid, as the boys would discover later in life, the countless bodies of anyone and anything that hunters all across the country needed to disappear. In it, Dean found a metallic playground full of mechanical wonders that kept him busy tinkering for hours on end. Sammy might have to be forced out of doors on a daily basis, but Dean, just the opposite of his brother, would have to be corralled and forced into the safety of four walls every night as the last rays of the sun succumbed to the ever-pressing shadows of darkness.
Bobby gave Dean a cursory lesson or two on repairing machinery and Dean took to the task the way Sammy took to reading reference books and doing research. Bobby allowed both boys pretty much free run of the place as long as they minded him and didn't get into too much mischief. They picked up knowledge from Bobby, here and there, which would definitely come in handy later on when John took to leaving the boys alone, rather than continuing to impose on his friends, not that any of them would have ever considered Dean and Sammy an imposition.
The self-described old hunter taught them both all that he could during the short stents they'd spent with him throughout their childhood, including rudimentary cooking and first aid. He also showed them which books in his vast collection contained everything the boys could need to know about Wendigoes, Werewolves, Vampires, Ghouls, Djinn, and the countless other mythical monsters that were, in fact, reality rather than myth.
Sammy became more and more comfortable around Bobby the more time the brothers spent in his care. Sammy, however, still looked to Dean for comfort and security, and Dean, Bobby noticed, was always there to reassure his little brother and calm the younger whenever the stresses of being a Winchester became too much for Sammy. It was mostly after nightfall when Sammy would surrender to the fears that kept him knotted up whenever Dean wasn't around.
The little boy with big doe eyes and soft, round cheeks would sit, his face pressed to the grimy window, watching and waiting for Dean to finish whatever task had him occupied out of doors that day. The longer Dean took, the more anxious little Sammy became, until when time utterly got away from Dean and he came in later than usual, he would find Sammy with his knees drawn up, bottom lip quivering, and fat, wet tears trailing down his face.
Bobby, who was doing his best to pull together something for the three of them to eat for dinner one night, was oblivious to Sammy's suffering. But when Dean finally came inside, it was straight to Sammy that Dean would go, wiping away Sammy's tears with the cleanest part of his grease-covered hands. He shushed his little brother and embraced Sammy with strong arms that seemed to set right all that was wrong in the younger boy's world. "I-I thought you might have left like daddy, Dean," Sammy snuffled as he pressed his face into Dean's neck, taking in the heat from Dean's body and the earthy, musky scent of the sweat that dampened Dean's t-shirt.
"Hush, little man," Dean soothed as he pulled Sammy closer before using the tail of his shirt to wipe Sammy's runny nose. "You know I'd never leave you," Dean assured Sam. "I'd get too lonely without you. Besides, who would read to me every night if I wasn't with you, Sammy?" Dean always knew just what to say to calm and comfort his little brother. Sammy always felt so special when Dean would ask him to read aloud. "Now let's go wash up and get to the kitchen quickly before Bobby decides to eat without us and we're left licking the plates."
Sammy grinned and nodded when Dean kissed his tiny upturned nose. The boys went to wash the day away before heading to the kitchen for a bowl of Bobby's homemade chili. Neither ever had to courage to ask what exactly the meat was in the pot, figuring it was best left to the imagination, but on 'chili night' there was always a freshly dug hole somewhere out in yard.
Later, after their tummies were full and the supper dishes were washed, dried and put away, Dean and Sam would wait for a phone call from their father. If John was going to ring them, it would be before their nine o'clock bedtime. But on this night, as on nearly every other night, there was no telephone call for the boys. Bobby assured them that 'no news was good news' and that their father would call as soon as he could. So Dean took hold of his brother's hand and they both climbed the stairs to shower and get changed for bed.
Dean and Sam each had their own bedrooms at Bobby's house located right across the hall from each other at the opposite end of the hall from Bobby's own bedroom. This house was one of the only places where they had ever experienced such a luxury as their own rooms. But although they each kept their meager belongings in the aforementioned separate rooms, predictably, they never slept apart. Sammy was convinced that he'd awaken in the morning to find that Dean had run off to join their father and had left him behind. Or, that Dean had been taken in the night by the monsters their dad hunted or space aliens. Either way, Sammy was certain that unless he slept next to Dean, his brother would disappear on him, never to be seen again.
Dean, however, was much more practical and realistic. He was sure that Sammy would have terrible nightmares of the kind that would leave his brother screaming himself into catatonia were he to be left to sleep alone. Bobby, though he didn't exactly understand the brothers' rationale, or their need to be together so much, gave them leave to sleep on the roof if they wanted to, just as long as they shut up, went to sleep and didn't wake him up before sunrise.
"G'night, Dean," Sammy whispered to his brother, Dean holding his breath for what he knew was coming next. "I love you," Sammy said, pressing his nose into Dean's neck, his scrawny arm going around Dean's waist before moving his hand up to rest over Dean's pounding heart.
"Yeah. Uh, 'night, Sammy," Dean whispered back placing his hand over Sam's, holding it to his chest and grimacing because of the cowardly response Dean knew he would make. "Me too," Dean said, a hitch of a sob in his voice. "Me too."