Hey y'all :):):)

This is basically a slight continuation of the story 'Why Don't We Have A Mommy?' as it follows the same kinda idea. I got bored in German and since I couldn't update my other fics then, I decided to write something nice and chick-flicky! :D

Summary: Wee!chester fic - A 'creased' photograph leads Dean and Sam to a saddening discovery about their father.

In this, Dean is 9 and Sam is 5 (I do so love the adorable little scamps haha)

Anyways, I hope you enjoy a little Winchesterly love!!! :)


January 3rd, 1989

Manhattan, Montana

Leaning against the windowsill, the rain pattering endlessly against the glass, Dean Winchester watched as his Dad's tall, hulking frame walked away from them towards the waiting Impala. A sigh whispered past his lips, his green eyes twinkling sadly as John opened the sleek black door and promptly disappeared from view.

Bye, Dad, he thought wistfully, his gaze locked on the familiar vehicle as it drove away from them, water diving hurriedly aside as it crashed through puddle after puddle: yet again to save the day.

Dean leant forwards, his forehead touching against the cool glass while he stared at the same place the Impala had just been. He knew that what his Dad did was important. Hell, it was the most important job in the entire world. But still, it didn't stop the bittersweet pang he felt in his kind heart every time he saw his father walk away.

He blew out a breath, the window fogging up slightly as he did so, hiding the forbidden outside world from view. Guess it's just me and Sammy for a few days.

And it wasn't that he didn't love his little brother. He did, with all his heart. But Dean was still just a kid, and it was hard to keep up with Sam's ever changing moods. One day he was playful, the next reserved, then questioning, then silent… it was more than enough to have the elder boy clambering the walls within a couple of seconds.

Only one day, Dean reminded himself, pushing back off of the sill and staring at the mist of his breath across the glass. One day and then we'll be outta here again.

He reached forwards, wiping the fog away before he turned back towards the empty motel room. A small shiver swept through him as he scanned around. It always looked so much bigger after their Dad had left.

Brushing a hand through his blond spiky hair, he advanced through the room, heading towards the bedroom that both he and Sam shared. He liked it that way of course. It meant that the only way anything bad could get to Sam, was through him, and he'd never let that happen.

No, they'll never get Sammy.

Dean paused as he reached the slightly ajar bedroom door: just yet another of John's many precautions. His eyes narrowed as he heard a crinkling sound, repeating over and over before a frustrated huff followed. Curiosity getting the better of him, Dean opened the door and entered.

The first thing he noticed was Sam's wide eyes as they swivelled to look at him, and then, of course, the very unsubtle movement that lead to the hiding of something secret beneath Sam's legs. The elder brother rolled his eyes. Could you be any more obvious Sam?

"What you got there?"

Sam swallowed as his big brother walked towards him and he looked away, deciding to stare at his toes while he wiggled them beneath his too-big socks. He remained silent as Dean walked past him before he sat down opposite him. Shifting uncomfortably, Sam saw Dean's legs cross Indian style before he became utterly still, clearly just waiting for his brother to fold.

Dean took the opportunity in Sam's moment of unsuccessful discreetness to catch a glimpse of what was poking out from beneath his thigh. He squinted, pinpointing part of what seemed to be a tree lurking in the corner of an old photograph. Furrowing his brow, he thought for a moment: A tree? Why's a tree so impor…?

"M'sowwy Dean," came Sam's sudden outburst, large round eyes staring pleadingly at him. Dean said nothing, hoping the silence would prompt his little brother to continue. "I-I," Sam added softly, his hands fumbling in his lap, "I know you don't wike me lookin' at it."

A look of confusion spread over the elder brother's face, before Sam reached down, gripping the edge of the photograph with clumsy fingers. As soon as it came into view, Dean recognised it and sighed slightly.

The somewhat both haunting and joyous photograph of the Winchesters, posing as the family they should have been, was now laid out before him, bringing back memories he had long worked to repress.

"I never said I didn't like you looking at it, Sam," Dean replied, eyes scanning over the photo and noticing slight crease marks at its edges. He leant forwards, his hands ghosting over the recent abuse to the picture before his bright eyes snapped back up to his brother's uncertain face. "What happened?"

"W-What d'you mean?"

Snatching the photograph up, he held it at eye-level, pointing to the creases marring its once perfect edges. "I mean this, Sam."

Dean watched as Sam became more agitated, his watery gaze flicking from the photo to Dean, and then back to the photo again. "I was… I-I was…" Podgy fingers reached out, poking lightly against his father's face in the picture. "I was twying to get wid of Daddy's cweases."

A frown pulled the elder brother's eyebrows into perfect arcs as he turned the photo back towards him. He scanned over John's face, noticing nothing out of the ordinary. Sure, he looked a little younger, but he was still exactly the same.

"Sam, there's nothing wrong with…"

He was cut off as Sam leant over, once again prodding at John's face, a look of sincerity painted on the 5-year-old's own. "Right dere!" he exclaimed, drawing his finger along the crease lines and allowing Dean to see.

A look of incredulity overtook Dean's previous confusion and he shook his head, still studying the photograph. "Sam, they're not creases." Sam titled his head, asking the unspoken question. "It's Dad's smile, is all."

"But… Dad doesn't ever smile." Dean said nothing, stunned by the statement, the pure innocence of it. Of course their Dad smiled. He'd seen it first hand, maybe rarely, but still…

Opening his mouth to reply, Sam once again spoke before him, asking in an awe-filled voice: "Dean, where did Daddy's smile go?"

Silence filled the room and Dean looked away from his baby brother's curious puppy dog eyes. What does he mean 'where did it go'? He glanced back at the photograph in his hand, zeroing purely in on John's face, studying every aspect of his father's boyish smile.

His smile never left. He squinted, one finger brushing lightly over John's lips, tracing the wide grin carved there. Did it?

"Dean?"

Dean's head snapped back up and he watched as Sam frowned, lips poised in a perfect 'o' shape. The little brother paused, before nodding in a pure gesture of wizened understanding. "Y-You didn't know it was missing, did you?"

Aware of the fact that his mouth was flapping wide enough to catch several flies, Dean abruptly closed it, gaze locked on John's 'lost' smile. "No," he finally whispered, "No, I didn't Sammy."

"It's alwight. We can always go find it."

With a soft grin, Dean met Sam's eyes, "Yeah." A broad smile, white teeth flashing brightly replied him, proud at the fact that his suggestion would work. "But I don't think it'll be that easy kiddo."

Again, another puzzled look took its place on the youngster's face: "Why not?"

"'Cos Dad…" Dean broke off, rubbing a hand tiredly over his face. A realisation was nagging at him, and truth be told, it was affecting him much more deeply than it should have. When was the last time their Dad had smiled? Dean couldn't remember it, no matter how hard he thought.

John was Dean's ultimate hero – he easily surpassed Batman every time, no competition. But still, Dean hadn't seen a smile in oh-so long. He knew why. Of course, his father still missed his mother and even five years on, he never stopped thinking about her. Her death still haunted him – that and the fact that no matter what he did, he never got close enough to exact revenge against the thing that did this to them.

Maybe he'll never smile again, Dean thought grimly, shaking himself out of his reverie as he watched Sam studying him, waiting patiently for an answer. God, how do you explain this to a 5-year-old?

Placing the photograph to one side, Dean sighed, bouncing his hands restlessly against his knees. "Sam, the thing with Dad is… he, um…"

Scratching the back of his head, the elder brother held Sam's gaze, hoping that his explanation would suffice enough for now. "He's a little sad."

"Why?" followed the light question, the mop of hair bobbing as Sam edged closer.

"Because he's…" I can't bring up Mom. That'll just open another whole can of worms. "Because he's always away from us, and he really hates leaving us alone."

Pursing his lips, Sammy pondered. "Then why don't he just stay wiv us?"

"He can't."

"Why?"

"'Cos he's got a job to do," the elder brother answered calmly, easily leaving out the details surrounding John's line of work. It wasn't for Sam to know yet. "And as much as he loves us, he just can't stay with us all of the time."

Sam nodded, now sitting directly in front of Dean, balanced precariously on his knees, "But den, why doesn't he smile when he's wiv us?" Hazel eyes became watery, as the thought entered the young child's intelligent and yet, innocent mind. "Do we not make Daddy happy no more?"

"What? Of course we do, Sammy."

"Then w-where did Daddy's smile go? You smile when you're happy, b-but, Daddy never smile w-when he's wiv us."

Dean watched sadly as tears rolled down his little brother's cheeks, his lips trembling with each shuddering breath. Aw please don't cry Sammy! Leaning forwards, Dean tugged Sam closer to him, wrapping his arms strongly around the boy's smaller shaking frame.

"Ssh, Sammy," he rubbed his hands comfortingly up and down the smallest Winchester's back, supporting him fully in his lap as he cried. He hushed him, lending Sam the support he needed as he struggled through his tears. "It's alright, I gotcha."

Eventually, and with an incredible amount of tenderness, Sammy pulled away, rubbing his eyes so as to clear the lingering sadness resting there. He blinked up at Dean through red-rimmed eyes, sniffing loudly. "Sowwy."

"Nothin' to apologise for, little brother," Dean replied swiftly, wiping the remaining damp from his brother's face. "And I know Dad doesn't smile much, but it doesn't mean that he doesn't love us."

"I-I know. I jus' wish I knew how to find Daddy's smile again."

The words hit Dean deep and hiding the despair that flashed momentarily in his eyes, he softly brushed Sam's long fringe back from his face. Me too, kiddo. Me too.

The two sat silently for a few minutes, Sam leaning slightly against his big brother's legs, using them as a means of comfort. The photograph, the whole cause of the problem, lay forgotten by Dean's side, four smiling faces now gazing at the blank ceiling.

Without warning, Sam stiffened, sitting bolt upright. Dean watched him in concern, placing a hand on the boy's thin shoulder. "Sammy?"

Before Dean could react further, the 5-year-old spun around to face him, pure excitement oozing from him. "Dean, I know!" he clapped his hands together merrily, his smile lighting up his previously gloomy visage. "I know how to make Daddy smile again!"

Pushing himself clumsily to his feet, Sammy bounded away, leaving his brother dumbfounded on the floor. Dean simply watched as Sam ran back and forth, searching for whatever would need to be accomplished to make their father smile again.

Dean shook his head, turning his head to stare down at the photograph still resting loyally by his side. Well he'll never find the whiskey if that's what he's after.

Grasping the edge of the picture delicately, he rose to his feet, quirking an eyebrow as he saw what remained of Sam's legs poking out of the end of the bed, wiggling furiously. "Sam, what…?"

Raising his arms in exasperation, his only answer being the constant wriggle of two small legs, Dean sighed, heading back out of the room. "I hope you've prepared yourself, Dad." He glanced once more at his father's face and shrugged, mirroring the smile resting there.

Dean left the room silently, allowing his brother to work on whatever he had planned to revive their Dad's happiness. Good luck, Sammy.


January 4th, 1989

Manhattan, Montana

It was after eleven when their Dad finally did make an appearance, and Sam was already half-asleep next to Dean, his head resting against his brother's shoulder. Dean had told him more than once to go to bed and get some rest, but it seemed that John wasn't the only overly stubborn Winchester in the family.

The elder brother still didn't know what Sam had done to try and make John smile. Even after hours of using his imagination and trying to figure out what a 5-year-old could accomplish with what little materials they possessed, he still wasn't any closer to figuring it out.

The familiar rumble of the trusty Impala, however, had dragged Dean roughly from his thoughts. Gently shaking Sammy and bringing him to full awareness, he had watched as Sam had leapt to his feet, rushing away into the bedroom they shared.

Dean was already on his feet when the door opened, revealing a weary-looking John Winchester, a duffel slung over his shoulder.

"Hey Dad. How was the job?" he asked as his father shuffled into the room, closing the door and dropping the duffel with a tired sigh to the floor.

"Fine – nothing I couldn't handle." Dean nodded, gaze already roaming John's body and searching for any wounds or secrets that were being kept hidden from him. Finding none, he smiled widely, moving aside to give John access to the well-deserved couch.

The eldest Winchester drudged forwards, collapsing into the warmth of the cushions. A large hand brushed back his hair, while intense brown eyes stared at his eldest, performing the same visual search that Dean had.

Satisfied, he asked gruffly, "How were things? Sammy asleep?"

"Um… Well, the thing about that is…"

"Daddy!" Both Dean and John's heads snapped up as a small, mop-headed child darted around the couch, leaping onto the hunter resting there.

John grunted at the sudden Sammy attack, barely managing to catch his son in time, "Whoa Sam! What are you still doin' up, huh?" He sent a pointed look at Dean as he spoke, receiving only an apologetic shrug in reply. Rolling his eyes, John set his little boy on his knee, noticing the way he chewed his lip before twirling a crayon slowly with his fingers.

"Needed to give you something. It's not finished yet, dough…"

Pulling a hand from behind his back, John was rewarded with a piece of paper being waved haphazardly in his face. He frowned, taking it from Sam and feeling the couch dip slightly as Dean sat down next to him. Turning it over, John took in his son's drawing, the picture tugging at his heartstrings.

There were three stick figures covering the page. The biggest one in the middle was holding hands with the other two: one had spiky hair while the other's was long and unruly. He studied the large smiles drawn on the two smaller figures' faces before his gaze travelled to the shakily written word at the top: Foweva.

A smile spread across John's face as he lowered the drawing, meeting Sam's eyes. "It's beautiful Sammy. Thank you."

With a tilt of his head, a mischievous glint flittered in the younger brother's hazels and he quickly took back the drawing. His tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth adorably, Sam began to draw, his eyebrows creased in complete concentration.

Turning to Dean, John mouthed a puzzled: 'What?' but soon realised that Dean was likewise confused. Resigned to cluelessness, the two simply waited, watched Sammy as he drew carefully along the paper that rested against his knee.

A content nod indicated Sam was done and lifting the drawing, he handed it back to his Dad. "It's finished now," he announced proudly, his hand still tightly clutching the crayon.

John felt Dean lean against him as he tried to peer at the picture and he held it higher so that they could both see. Dean smiled widely, a small chuckle escaping him as he studied the stick figure of his father. There, drawn in boldly with red crayon, was a wide smile.

The hunter softened, laughing brightly as he tugged Sam and Dean close, hugging them to him. "What would I do without you boys?" he asked merrily, kissing them both lovingly on the brow.

Dean grinned, catching Sam's eye as they were held tightly against their father's chest. Leaning slightly forwards, he whispered proudly, "Looks like you found Dad's smile after all."


I hope that made you smile a little! :D

Please leave me a review and let me know if you liked it!!!

Now, I'll try and get over to my other fics and get them kickstarted... again :S lol

Hugs, Ami-Rose x x x x x