Author's Note: This story takes place when Sammy's ten and Dean's fourteen. It's pretty much about family, and how terribly the Winchesters' need each other. I hope everyone enjoys it… Warning! I'm gonna tell you right now that there's a little bit of Sammy torture in this one… I promise it's not that bad… At least I don't think it is. Please read it anyway! I spent a long time writing it!
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.
Fathers and Brothers
I am so friggin' sick of this…
Dean Winchester, fourteen years old, clad in torn jeans, a long-sleeved flannel shirt, and sporting a rather deadly looking hunting knife on his belt, sauntered over to the makeshift kitchen of the rundown trailer his family had been renting for the past four months. It was freezing outside; there was frost on the ground, and as the trailer completely lacked electricity, he really wasn't in the mood for his little brother's latest temper tantrum. It was just too damn cold for this! God, Sammy, give it a rest!
"I'm not going!"
"You can't make me!"
"How many times are we going to go through this?"
"It isn't fair! I have friends here!"
"You'll make new friends. You always do."
"It won't be the same!"
Dean closed his eyes, trying to block out the sound of it all. Sammy was ten years old. He was dressed in overalls and a white T-shirt. Definitely not the warmest outfit in the world, but Sammy never complained about the cold. No. The only thing he ever complained about was their nomadic existence. Jesus, Sammy. Don't you know dad just wants to help people?
But that was bull, and Dean knew it as much as Sammy did. Their dad didn't care half as much about helping people as he did about killing the thing that had killed their mom. The only reason they moved around so much was because John Winchester wanted to find the damn bastard and send it careening back into hell where it most definitely and undeniably belonged. After all, who wouldn't?
The problem was… that unlike Dean… Sammy didn't remember his mother. He didn't remember her, and therefore couldn't possibly be expected to understand what it was that had been taken from him. He couldn't! You would think that, since this was the only way of life Sammy had ever known, than he'd be the one willing to accept it most readily. But… that hadn't been the case. That hadn't been the case at all! The only thing… the only damn thing Sammy wanted was to fill the empty pit in his heart that constantly reminded him he had no mother. He had no home. He wasn't like other children. He was missing out. And he was so frustrated because of it that… that… that helping their father meant next to nothing to him!
And so, every time they were told to pack their things, this was the typical response. Loud temper tantrums. Sammy made a scene. John patiently worked to pacify him. And Dean retreated into the background, waiting for things to settle down before helping his brother gather together what sparse belongings he owned. Dean himself never needed to pack. Mainly because he had long since given up unpacking. What was the point? It would only ever be a matter of time. Eventually, Sammy would figure that out, too. But until then… this was the unending routine.
"I won't go!"
"Dean!" John Winchester suddenly turned towards his eldest son, who immediately snapped to attention. "Get your brother's stuff together. We're leaving in ten minutes."
"Yes sir," Dean replied automatically, heading towards the room he'd been sharing with his brother. Sammy, however, dove towards it with an unexpected burst of speed, and, upon reaching it first, raced inside and slammed it shut. Dean blinked, picked up his pace, and grabbed the door handle. Not that it surprised him much or anything, but the door barely budged. Sammy had locked it. And if that wasn't bad enough, the crummy old door didn't even have a keyhole! Instead, it had one of those hook latches on the inside that were literally impossible to pick – a talent the fourteen year old was actually quite proficient at.
Feeling utterly dejected, Dean turned towards his father and shrugged. "Guess we should have seen this one coming."
John sighed, grumbling about how they didn't have time for this. He walked over to the door and gently moved Dean aside. "Sammy!" He turned the handle, despite the futility of such an act, and pressed his ear against the wooden frame. "Sammy, open this door!" There was no response. He couldn't hear a thing from the other side.
Moving swiftly and fluidly, John backed up a step and literally kicked the door open. It was one of the nice things about living in such a hovel. No door could keep the eldest Winchester out.
Predictably, Sammy was nowhere to be seen. John took a step back and glanced at Dean, nodding him forward. Hardly able to suppress a groan, the fourteen year old entered the room and opened the closet door. His brother wasn't there. "Oh, come on, Sammy." Dean turned towards the two beds in pure disgust. They had both been pushed together up against the wall in the corner. Sammy got the bed closest to the wall, so that if anything should ever attack at night, he'd already be out of the line of fire. It was… yet another way that Dean could protect his little brother. It had long since been ingrained in his head that Sammy was basically his responsibility. Sammy was younger. Sammy was more vulnerable. If anything ever happened to Sammy, Dean wouldn't be able to…
Getting down onto his hands and knees, Dean peered underneath the two beds. But, much to his astonishment, Sammy still wasn't there! Well that didn't make any sense! The trailer was a shabby mess to be sure, and their bedroom was no exception… but there were only two places in which a boy could hide. And Sammy wasn't in either one of them!
John recognized the tone in Dean's voice right away. He recognized it. He knew what it meant. And he understood all too well that there was definitely a problem. Walking into the room, the eldest Winchester made straight for the window. Dean sat up to watch him, growing painfully tense. John never entered his kids' room when Sammy got like this. It had always been Dean's job to coax the little boy out. After all, no matter what family you were a part of, there were always different responsibilities for different people. Different roles. Different duties. When Sammy threw a temper tantrum, it was John's job to calm him down. When Sammy decided to hide in the closet or underneath a bed, it was Dean's job to get him out. That was just the way of things in this family. When Sammy got like this, John absolutely never crossed the boundary that was, in fact, the threshold to their room. But there he was… pausing at the window only for a second before uttering a soft curse.
"Dad?" Dean whispered, but John had already turned back around and left the room. Scrambling to his feet, Dean hastened to follow. "Dad?"
"He's outside," John explained without so much as even turning his head. Dean felt his heart jump in his throat. Not only was it friggin' cold outside, but the trailer in which they lived had several – literally dozens – of other lots surrounding it. And their neighbors… Damn, some of their neighbors were honest to God lunatics! This place was by no means part of the American Dream!
Dean didn't even want to think about some of the crap that could be found outside. Broken bottles… cars that were missing doors… engines… windows… Hell, a kid could get tetanus from just about anything he picked up off the ground! Not to mention rabies from that one Doberman four lots down… "Christ, Sammy…"
Throwing the door open, John plowed outside with Dean directly on his heels. The two of them ran around the trailer, keeping their eyes open for Sammy. But the kid wasn't anywhere to be seen!
John turned towards Dean, his face dark and etched with worry. "Check the car. If Sammy's not there, grab a .45 and start searching. Don't ask anyone for help."
"Yes, sir," Dean didn't so much as even blink an eye. It wasn't the first time he had been told to handle a gun, after all. Hell, there was a friggin' knife hanging from his belt, damn it! But at fourteen, Dean still wasn't quite bulky enough to effectively use it against men like his dad. He could only imagine how helpless Sammy would be should one of their kindly neighbors see him… The kid still wasn't even half his brother's size! – though John did warn him not to boast too much about that quite yet. Sammy still had to reach puberty. For all they knew, he could end up taller than either one of them. Right. As if that would ever happen.
Dean hastened towards the Chevy Impala. John promised that it'd be his one day… but at that particular moment, Dean could care less. Stupid, dumb little Sammy had to run away and could, by now, be in who knew what kind of trouble! He was so going to get his ass kicked for this one!
At least… Dean hoped he would…
They needed to find him first…
A/N: Please review!