Disclaimer: Dean and Sam own me in ways you wouldn't believe. The title comes from the Beatles song of the same name, but alas, I don't own them either. Woe.
A/N: This is a collection of drabbles that came to be after listening to the radio one afternoon. I've never written in this format before, so I'd be curious to hear what you think.Thanks once more to Cheryl, Faye, and Gem for their continued support. They seriously rock.
Happy Fourth of July!
"When I find myself in times of trouble,
Mother Mary comes to me,
Speaking words of wisdom,
'Let it be.'" - The Beatles
Let it Be
When Dean Winchester was three, his mother and father sat him down and told him that he was going to be a big brother.
Though the little boy was excited at first, he later pulled himself into his mother's lap and cried tears of uncertainty into her shoulder.
Mary rocked her little boy, running her delicate fingers through his long brown hair and nuzzling his head in the crook of her neck.
"You're going to be a great big brother, Dean," she told him. "You and the baby will grow big and strong together, and you'll keep each other safe from all the bad things in the world."
Dean looked up at her, his large green eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "Really, Mommy?"
She hugged the boy tightly to her chest. "Really, sweetheart. Just let it be."
That afternoon, Dean decided he was going to be the best big brother in the world.
When Dean was five, he heard baby Sammy begin to cry from the small crib on the other side of the bedroom. The little boy approached the crib, careful not to startle the ten-month-old as he sobbed and gasped for air.
"Sammy?" Dean grabbed the thin wooden rails with his tiny fists and peered into the crib. "What's wrong?"
Sliding the rocking chair across the floor so it was mere inches from the baby's bed, Dean carefully stepped onto it and lifted himself over the rails and into the crib.
He wrapped both his arms around the screaming infant and rocked him gently in his lap.
"Sammy? Why are you crying?"
Dean continued to rock the baby, but Sammy's cries only intensified.
The five-year-old looked up at the ceiling, the tears glistening in his own eyes.
"I'm sorry, Mommy," he whispered.
A sudden gust of wind sent the powder blue curtains reaching for the crib, and Dean's hold on his baby brother tightened.
"It's okay, Dean," he heard her voice say. "You're doing a great job with Sammy."
"But Mommy, I can't get him to stop crying. Why won't he stop?" The little boy's voice trembled as he spoke.
"Shh, Dean. He's safe in your arms. Just let it be."
Dean held the baby closer to his chest, whispering soothing words in his ear. He kissed Sammy on the forehead and wiped the tears from his own eyes as the baby began to settle.
Sammy looked up at Dean with wide brown eyes and smiled.
"Thank you, Mommy," Dean whispered.
When Dean was eleven, his father insisted that Sammy was ready to join them on the hunt. Though Dean protested, arguing that Sammy was still a kid and much too young to see the things they saw, his father's stubbornness won out in the end.
It was supposed to be a routine haunting. Go in, pour salt circles, and reclaim the house for the family.
No one expected the ghost in the attic to be a violent poltergeist.
As Dean held his brother's limp body in his arms, he sent a prayer to his mother to please let Sammy be okay.
"I'm sorry, Mom. I let you down."
Dean wiped the blood from Sam's cheek as a warm breeze settled around the brothers.
"No, sweetheart. You could never let me down," he heard her say.
"But Sammy got hurt. I didn't keep him safe."
"Oh Dean, Sammy will always be safe as long as he has you."
"Shh, son. Just let it be."
As the breeze faded away, Dean sighed and pulled his jacket tighter around Sam's body. "It's okay, Sammy. You're gonna be okay. I promise."
The seven-year-old began to stir in his brother's arms. "Dean?"
No one word had ever sounded so sweet.
When Dean was seventeen, he met with his high school guidance counselor to discuss possible career choices.
Though Dean had never given it much consideration, he was intrigued by the counselor's compliments and various suggestions.
Dean had always pictured himself hunting side-by-side with his father and brother until the end, never letting himself believe that there was anything more out there for him. But as the words "potential" and "creative" echoed throughout the cramped office, the teen wondered for the first time if maybe there was something else out there.
That night, while his father and brother were taking care of a routine salt-and-burn at the cemetery, Dean locked himself in his bedroom and asked his mother for advice.
"I don't know what to do, Mom. The people at school are telling me that I can do anything, but I don't want to leave Sammy and Dad."
A gentle breeze caressed Dean's face as he heard her speak.
"You will do great things, Dean. No matter what you decide."
"But how do I choose?"
"If it was meant to be, you will know. Believe in yourself. Let it be, son."
And the breeze was gone.
"Mom? What does that mean? I don't-"
His questions were interrupted by the slamming of the front door and the panicked screaming that followed.
Dean entered the room to find his father cradling his little brother in his arms, blood dripping from a wound in Sam's stomach.
And suddenly, his decision was made.
When Dean was twenty-two, his brother made a trip to one of their many post office boxes scattered throughout the country.
Dean never expected one letter to change his life so drastically.
Sam had been offered a scholarship to Stanford University, a feat only accomplished by the best of the best. And though it was hidden beneath a mask of indifference, Dean had never been more proud.
The screaming match between self-righteous father and defiant son became nothing more than muffled voices as Dean retreated to the parking lot of the small motel.
Sitting himself on the curb and glancing skyward, Dean sent up a silent prayer to his mother.
The warm spring air swirled around him as she spoke.
"You must let him go."
Dean wiped the foreign tear that had managed to escape down his cheek. "I don't think I can, Mom."
"Sweetheart," the angelic voice began, "If you don't let him go now, you will lose him forever."
"But he needs me." Dean paused and then softly added, "I need him."
"You and Sammy will always be a part of each other. You must let it be, son."
The warm spring air dissipated as the motel room door was thrust open and Sam stormed out, his backpack flung hastily over his shoulder.
"Hey!" Dean called as he rushed to keep up with his brother. "At least let me drive you to the bus stop."
When Dean was twenty-six, he received a cryptic phone call from his father warning him that they were all in danger.
He climbed into the Impala, and as the New Orleans skyline faded into the background, Dean headed for California with one thought on his mind.
He didn't want to be alone any longer.
Dean wiped the sweat from his brow and looked over to his brother. Sam was on his knees in the damp grass, gazing up at the now charred apartment.
Dean opened the Impala door and slid in, leaning his head back against the seat.
"I think I made a mistake, Mom."
Dean suddenly felt her warmth surround him as her angelic voice permeated his mind.
"You did the right thing, Dean."
"He watched his girlfriend die. He's never going to heal from that."
"He will, sweetheart. He will because he won't have to do it alone."
"I'm just afraid I can't protect him anymore."
"Oh, honey. You are together, and as long as you're together, you will continue to keep each other safe from all the bad things in the world. You are together, and you must let it be."
Her warmth was replaced by the scorching heat still emanating from the building, and as Dean knelt down beside his brother and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, his mother's words came back to him.
They had work to do.