"Dad…how do you spell Sammy?" A five year old Dean asked his father from where he sat on a hotel bed. His baby brother sleeping between two pillows behind him. A piece of blank paper in Dean's tiny hands.
"S-a-m-m-y" His father answered without lifting his head.
"S-a-m…m-y?" he repeated quietly.
"Yeah, Dean you got it."
"My Sam?" Dean looked at his brother, a puzzled expression on his face.
"Yup," John continued to scribbling notes.
Dean smiled, scribbled the letters boldly on the paper then turned to his sleeping brother. He crawled forward, placed a light kiss on Sammy's forehead then laid next to him, his wide eyes fixed on his brother.