AN: So I find there's quite a few stories out there about a young Dean and his Dad but decidedly less few about Sammy and John. As Sam is the character I love with every single essence of my being and his relationship with John though tempestuous and riddled with emotion it's so clear they adore each other, especially in 'Something Wicked' and 'Dead Man's Blood'. I figure Sam's the only baby John's had to raise alone. As the single parent. Dean too but Sam from an absolute infant. That must have been so hard.

So here's a little taster of the first in a few pre series fics I'm hoping to complete with all weechesters but mainly focussing around young Sam and young John with of course strong appearances from our Dean.

Disclaimers: Kripke owns the Winchesters, Sam and Dean own each other, I however own nothing.

'Sammy one more peep and it's nap time for you I'm serious.'

Sam froze mid wail and stared up at his father in apparent despair before his little face scrunched up further, his bottom lip wobbled and he resumed his almighty screaming.

John Winchester sighed and steadfastly turned away from his distraught one year old, no way would he be able to keep up the stern tactic if Sam fixed those puppydog eyes on him again.

'Sammy doesn't like you right now Daddy.' A small voice piped up unhappily from the sofa.

'Well frankly Dean I don't care whether Sam likes me or not, naughty boys don't get to have desert when they're acting like your brother is right now.'

John's five year old rolled his eyes in apparent condemnation at his Dad's marine style punishment and crawled on hands and knees across the carpet to his wailing baby brother.

'It's ok Sammy.' He shushed gently 'you want to play lego with me?'

'He's too little for lego Dean, I don't want the pieces near his mouth.'

Dean huffed and leaned down till he was lying next to his brother's tantrum wriggling little body, 'I wasn't goin to let him eat any.'

'Beside the point…' John grumbled attempting to wash the left over bowls of food before him.

Behind him baby Sam's cries grew impossibly louder as he kicked his tiny legs into the carpet in rage.

'Shhh Sammy…shhhh it's ok…' Dean tried.

Sam withdrew a pudgy fist from the floor and turned his head fixing Dean with a watery gaze. The fist found his mouth and he gnawed on it briefly before lifting his other fist to poke a tiny finger at Dean's cheek.

'Dee…' he gasped between sobs 'bewees'.

Dean stilled bringing a hand to rest on the small of his brother's diaperclad butt that was stuck up in the air. 'Daddy says you're not allowed Sammy. But if you're good and quiet I bet he'll let you have some later.'

Sam seemed to mull this over for a second. His eyes widened and he paused his sobs. Then seemed to change his mind and decide that later simply wasn't good enough. 'NO WANT BEWEES NOWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!'

The wailing started up all over again as Sam flung his face into the carpet and bawled at the injustice in the world. Dean looked at his father. 'Daddy, maybe we could just give him some now. He didn't mean to be naughty.'

John sighed and flung the towel down turning round and attempting to level his eldest son with a look. 'Dean, Sam has to know he can't just run into the road like that. He could have been seriously hurt, it's very dangerous.'

Dean stuck out his own bottom lip, 'but it was my fault Daddy, I didn't hold on to him tight enough.'

John sighed rubbing a hand wearily through his hair. 'Dean, it wasn't your fault, Sam has to learn when to do as he's told, and he was told to stay next to you…' John purposely raised the volume of his voice over his youngest's cries 'but he made the decision to run away into the road and he has to tell me he's sorry.'

Sam shifted obviously and bawled harder 'you're mean', he sobbed pitifully, 'Daddy mean, mean Daddy.'

'Sam I am not mean. I would just like you to say you're sorry and until you do young man there'll be no desert.'

'NO.' Sam screamed blue murder into Jim's rectory floor, 'no, no, no, no, no.'

John raised an eyebrow at the baby. 'ok then.' He turned back to the bench and retrieved his journal before sitting down deliberately at the kitchen table, ignoring his son.

Sam's wails reached fever pitch and Dean lay next to him on the carpet shooting reproachful glances at John every wail.

John stared at the page infront of him till his eyes blurred. This was not a welcome turn of events. Sam, his usually sweet natured, placid child had turned into a downright hellion seemingly overnight. When the hell had his sweet baby turned into such a raging toddler?

John wished as ever for Mary's capable hands. She'd have Sam apologising and cuddled and giggling again in mere seconds of that John had no doubt. He himself found himself failing at this miserably.

He was just trying to keep them safe, trying to instill the dangers into them, but all he was getting for his trouble was a sobbing wreck of a one year old and the bitchface of all bitchfaces from his five year old.

Still…it was worth it if they learned something from this.

John had almost had a heart attack earlier that day when Sam had bolted into the road. God if those cars hadn't stopped outside the gas station. His hands shook and he momentarily stilled the book he was reading as the violent tremor wracked through his weary body.

It had been too close. Sam had been too close. Watching those vehicles screech to a halt mere feet from his impossibly small toddler of a boy had knocked the wind from his lungs and he never, ever wanted a repeat performance.

He'd covered the asphalt in about 0.3 seconds and scooped up his 19 month old clinging to him so tightly he could feel the tiny heart pounding through his own.

They were all he had. His boys. And he couldn't lose them. Either of them, he'd never survive it. Returning to Jim Murphy's place where they'd been holed up for a couple of weeks the pastor had taken one look at his friend's face and shoved a stiff whisky into his hand. A grateful John had sank into a wooden chair and thrust the baby into Jim's arms. Gathering himself together, he'd demanded an apology from Sam who had folded his tiny arms and shook his head with a moody 'no'. And now Sam was paying for his 'no' with no ice cream that John and the boys had been buying from the gas station in the first place. And boy was he unhappy about it.

Sammy had never been the quietest of baby's, running loops around his Dad and big brother but this temper tantrum lark was a definite first and something John was not impressed with.

The door to the rectory creaked open and Sam momentarily shut up to lift his downy head from the floor. His chubby cheeks were streaked with tears and his hair standing up in brown tufts of disarray.

Jim Murphy peered down at the tiny body on his carpet with mild amusement. 'Problem Sammy?'

Sam's impossibly large eyes welled up dramatically. 'DADDY'S MEAN!' He warbled pushing himself back on his haunches and plonking his baby butt upright so he could fully extend his outrage. 'MEAN…'

Jim arched an eyebrow at John eyes glittering.

'It's true' the eldest Winchester confirmed 'I am officially the meanest Daddy in all the land.'

Jim laughed and walked over to the boys. Sam immediately lifted his arms out to be picked up but Jim neatly sidestepped him fixing the baby with a firm glance. 'Oh no Samuel, you won't be getting any sympathy from me, little boys who run into the road and don't say sorry are not entitled to cuddles from this guy.'

Sam's tiny rosebud mouth dropped open in outrage before he threw himself onto his back and kicked his tiny legs in the air in disgust.

Jim winked conspiratorially at John and turned to Dean. 'Deano you want to come help me pick up all the missal's from the pews?'

Dean fidgeted and scrunched his nose in distaste 'yuck. No.'

'Dean!' John reprimanded sternly 'that's not a question Jim's asking, go help him, now.'

Dean rolled his eyes with way more attitude than a five year old should have and pulled himself to his feet. 'Okaaaaaaaay.' He drawled 'but you have to play holy water fights with me after.'

Jim grinned as he patted the boy's shoulder. 'That sounds fair.'

Sam who seemed to finally notice that his most valuable ally was to depart abruptly attempted to pull himself to his feet. His wobbly legs complied momentarily before he crashed back down onto his butt, but never the quitter, he was back up again within a moment. 'Dean, Dean, Dean…'

Dean turned to his little brother a mournful look on his face.

'No Dean go, No.!'

Dean wavered, unable to deny his baby brother as Sam wobbled over and gripped fiercely to his leg pressing his head into Dean's hip.

'Dean's helping me now Sam.' Jim announced.

'I help.' The baby tried, 'I help Dean.'

'If you say sorry to your Daddy you can help me and Dean.' Jim bargained.

Sam looked up at Dean and then Jim and then back to his Daddy and then back to Dean and then he slumped back onto his butt and damn it all to hell decided to start crying again.

Dean shrugged at Sam and patted his curly damp hair as he was ushered from the room. 'Bye Sammy.'

No sooner had the door shut behind them that Sam fixed John in his gaze. John returned the gaze. Sam stared, John stared, Sam's eyes narrowed, John's eyes narrowed, Sammy lowered a fist from rubbing at his tearfilled eyes, John lowered his book anticipating his son's move.

'Just you and me now Sammy, I got all day baby.' John said seriously, refusing to be stared down by a one year old, even if he was the smartest, most beautiful, most woeful looking one year old in the world. Even if he was HIS one year old.

His one year old was currently thinking over his options, say sorry to big old mean Daddy or cry some more. Unfortunately for John his son had taken after him in pure stubbornness and Sam hurled himself into the couch and took up screaming again.


John sighed and raised his book again. Sammy one, Dad zero.

Twenty minutes of solid screaming later and John was ready to concede and just give Sam the damn berry ice cream desert. How the hell was a one year old getting the best of him? Hell he'd served in Nam for gods sake, he had faced down ruthless enemies armed and dangerous and he couldn't face down a baby. The sobs ceased and John peered around the book. Granted a baby with Mary's smile and mouth, with Mary's laugh and Mary's sense of wonder. No surprise he was losing really.

Slowly, placing the book on the table, he climbed to his feet marvelling at the silence. Tiptoeing round the sofa he stared down at his son. Sam had fallen asleep, tiny head nestled into the crook of chubby arm, curls tangled and sticking to his forehead, mouth puckered in slumber, nestled around his thumb which he sucked as if his life depended on it. John figured he'd never get Sam out of thumb sucking, it wasn't the baby's fault of course, his mother had burned before she'd finished breast feeding their youngest and a grieving John had been forced to resume bottle feeding the infant.

John sighed as he reached for Sam, remembering the battle to switch the six month old to bottles. Placing his hands around the hot little torso he lifted Sam up onto his shoulder and carried the stirring baby over towards the bedroom.

Sam's hot breath against his neck suddenly made him freeze, overwhelmed by love for this child. His boys could do that. They had such power over him, they could stop him in his tracks with a single smile, or laugh, or tilt of the head. If only they knew how they had their dear old dad wrapped around their little fingers.

Reaching the bedroom John carried Sam over to the makeshift cot and prepared to lay him down when a little hand slapped him on the cheek and he turned his head to meet Sam's wide eyed gaze. The baby had lifted his head off John's shoulder and now took his dad's face in his hands, smooshing his cheeks. John couldn't help but smile.

'I sowee Daddy.' Sam told him solemnly, eyes sleepy, 'I sowee.'

'I'm sorry John, god I hate it when we fight, I'm so sorry.'

John peered into the face so similar to Mary's and bit back a sob as he nodded and a stray tear escaped his eye. 'I know. I know you are.'

'Daddy no cry.' Sammy spluttered, hand reaching up to swat at the tear. 'No cry Daddy.'

'Daddy's ok Sammy.' John said quietly 'Daddy's ok.'

'You have an owiee?'

'No Sam…no.'

'I sowee I naughty.' Sam tilted his head gazing hard at John.

John jiggled the baby on his hip, 'that's ok Sammy. Just don't scare daddy again ok baby? Don't ever run into the road again.'

Sam nodded solemnly his hair still sticking up in odds and ends.

John smiled 'you want some ice cream now?'

'Nuh uh.' The baby shook his downy head.

John stared incredulously. 'What? After all that drama and you don't even want the ice cream?'

'Daddy, ice cream.'


'Daddy have Sammy's ice cream.' His one year old managed still playing with John's hair.

'You want Daddy to have your ice cream?' John asked unsure.

'Ice cream makes me happy. Daddy happy.'

John cocked his head watching his little miracle, the only thing to be pulled from that burning room. 'Daddy is happy Sammy. You make Daddy happy.'

Sam started clapping.

'When you're a good little boy.' John added as an afterthought. The small boy in his arms began tugging at his hair and John sat down on the edge of the bed, Sam firmly on his knee turned to face him.

'Happy…Happy…Happy…' the baby sang to himself.

John lay down against the pillows and lifted his son into the air holding him over his face so his little nose was rubbing against his fathers. 'And what makes you happy my Sammy?' He pushed the baby into the air and then dropped him, catching him before he hit John's chest. 'Huh?' Sam squealed with laughter. 'Does…' he dropped him again, 'Ice cream make you happy?' Sam squirmed and wriggled his little boy laughter ringing through the air, 'nuh uh.'

'Does airplane make you happy?'

'Nuh uh.'

'Does bathtime make you happy?'

Sam yuck yucked and scrunched up his little face, John knew full well how much his boys disliked bath time. 'Nooooooo daddy!'

John held the baby above him staring up into those eyes. 'What makes you happy son?'

Sam stared down at him thoughtfully. And just when John thought he wasn't going to answer he beamed from ear to ear. 'DEAN! DEE DEE DEAN!'

For a split second John was jealous. Stupidly jealous of a five year old, a five year old that the little bundle above him loved so entirely. 'And daddy.' Sam grinned as if reading John's train of though, 'daddy.'

John smiled softly, bringing Sam's face to his and rubbing their noses together. 'Daddy'. He confirmed. 'And Dean.'

'And Dean.' Sam repeated. 'And bewee ice cream.'

John rolled his eyes, 'and berry ice cream.'

Forsaking the crib and laying Sam down on his chest John peered over the side of the bed and checked the saltlines were all still in place. Resting his palm against Sam's small back he rubbed the baby too and fro until he fell into a deep slumber.

It wasn't long before his father joined him.

It was dark when Jim and Dean returned with the box of missals. Jim smiled as Dean's nose wrinkled in confusion at finding no screaming little brother and no mutinous father awaiting them.

'Pastor Jim?' He asked seriously, tugging on the cleric's trousers 'do you think Dad killed Sammy?'

Jim laughed shortly gripping the small child by the shoulder and ruffling his blonde head. 'No Dean, at least I certainly hope not.' He peered around before heading towards the bedroom. 'Come on.'

Even though he was pretty sure that nothing evil could have entered the sacred ground, Jim knew it was better to be safe than sorry and gripped Dean's hand in one palm and a bottle of holy water in the other. They slowly made their way down the corridor.

The door at the end was suddenly before them and Jim opened it silently. Beside him he felt Dean stiffen, nervous energy frozen within. They needn't have worried.

On the bed before them John Winchester lay his dark head nestled close to the matching dark haired toddler asleep atop his chest. They were both snoring.

Jim smiled in relief, it looked like a truce had been reached. Beside him Dean shook his head, his expression suddenly adorably adult. Sighing, he turned to Jim with a frown, 'Pastor Jim?' he queried with an exasperated shake of the head, 'What am I going to do with them?'

Jim grinned down at the five year old and pictured the years to come, somehow he figured Dean would most definitely end up in the middle. 'Dean my lad. You've got your work cut out for you.'