Summary: "Ya know when we were little and you couldn't have been more than five. You just started asking questions. 'How come we didn't have a mom?'"

A/N: I love Weechesters and I tried my best to figure out how a five-year-old would be able to handle not having a mom. And I tried my best at how John and Dean would tell Sam.

Sam had been asking for awhile.

'Why don't we have a mom?'

'Did we ever have a mom?'

'What did she look like?'

Every question was always directed at Dean. Sam never once asked their father and Dean knew that it was better this way—their father was not a talkative man, Dean knew that his father never spoke about their mother for a reason. Ever since Dean could understand the fact that their mom was gone, he knew that it was one thing he kept to himself.

But no matter how much he knew it would hurt their father, Dean still wished that Sam would ask their dad. By the time Dean was 9, he still had ignored all Sam's questions. He'd direct him to the TV, a small picture book he had gotten for Sam, or he'd promise to take Sam to the park. Anything to keep from telling the kid the truth, anything to keep from saying what had never been spoken aloud before.

But Sam was always a persistent kid.

"Dean?" the rambunctious five-year-old asked, pulling himself up onto the couch next to Dean. Dean glanced over at him, making sure that his little brother was able to get up without falling back onto the ground. He was fully capable of get on top of the couch, but Dean still wanted to make sure he didn't hurt himself.

Dean turned back towards the television, but not paying attention to it. He was trying to hear his father's conversation with Bobby in the other room. It was one-sided, but Dean still wanted to know what his dad was planning and where they would probably end up next. John always tried to keep Sam out of the loop; he didn't want to tell the kid about evil things. He tried to do the same with Dean, but eventually Dean found his father's journal when he was five. After a long look of confusion, anger, and fear, John had started to teach Dean how to protect himself.

John had planned to get Dean started on training when he was 8, so that he could keep his two kids with him instead of dropping him off at Bobby's or Pastor Jim's or Caleb's. The early start helped John out greatly, and he had placed Dean in charge of Sam. John had planned to start Sam out with training when he was 9, but didn't want to tell him about the supernatural. Not until he was old enough to completely understand it. For now, Sam would be a normal kid who had to move constantly and whose father would leave for weeks on end.

"Yeah?" Dean answered distractedly. Damnit, his father's voice could get really quiet when he wanted it to be.

"What happened to our mom?" Sam asked innocently, curling himself close to his older brother. "Jimmy said that everyone has a mom, even though we don't have one."

Dean ignored him, staring at the TV, just noticing that Thundercats had been on. His eyes locked onto the colorful cartoon on the screen, hoping to ignore the subject as he usually did. He wasn't in the mood to talk to his brother about this. Mother's Day had just passed and it had been the fifth year that Dean had been asked to make a card for a mother that no longer existed for him.

"Dean?" Sam turned his tiny head towards his brother, his hair flopping in front of his face. His tired hazel ears stared up at his big brother expectantly.

"She's dead," Dean deadpanned. He hadn't meant to be so blunt with his brother, but that was the only answer he could give. When he was asked if he wanted to call his mom after he'd gotten sick at school, he merely shook his head and left the nurse's office.

Sam stared at Dean in confusion, tiny tears coming to his eyes. "Dead?"

"Yeah Sam. She's gone," he said calmly, only just looking at his little brother. He frowned at the sight, wishing the little boy wouldn't take it so hard. He hated to see Sam cry, no matter if it was when he skidded his knee on the walk home from kindergarten last week or when he found the dead bird in their motel room's 'balcony'.

"Gone?" he repeated. The tears came down fast, but steadily, not relenting. He buried his face into Dean's shirt, causing Dean to pull him close, into his lap.

"Sammy it's okay," he soothed and he wondered what he should say to fix this. To fix the mess he had no fault in creating, but felt it was his fault. "Do you want to see what she looked like?"

Sam's head immediately turned up towards him and he nodded his head violently. Dean removed himself from his brother and moved quietly towards the room he shared with his little brother. Sam quickly padded his way after Dean, not caring that his brother was trying to be stealthy.

Dean turned around to see his little brother following him and smiled at the tear-stricken face, though now the tears were gone and his face was now a mask of interest. Turning back to the task at hand, Dean moved slowly into his room, moving directly towards his already packed duffle bag. It had all of Sam's and Dean's stuff in there and could probably hold Dean if it were empty. Dean even threatened to put Sam in there once to get him to stop talking so much.

Unzipping the duffle bag, Dean rummaged through their little belongs. He kept himself towards the right of the bag, knowing that's where his stuff was. Finding what he had been searching for, he stuck it to his chest and moved towards the door. Closing it slowly and soundlessly, Dean turned back to his little brother. Placing the picture on the bed first, he went back and picked up Sam into his arms, realizing that although there was a four year age difference, he still wasn't big enough to carry Sam around easily and fluidly.

Getting themselves both situated on the bed—pulling Sam as close to him as possible—Dean picked up the picture and handed it to his little brother. The picture hung in his two hands as he stared at it. There was his entire family. "That's you," Dean said, pointing to the tiny baby to the left in the woman's arms. He smiled as he looked to see Sam's eyes roaming the photo, not caring that it was wrinkled and bent in places. "And that's me and Dad," pointing to the respective people.

Dean paused for a moment before pointing to the blonde woman in the photo. "And that's Mom." Sam's and Dean's eyes took in the blonde hair and beautiful face, memorizing the way she smiled and the lighting of her face. For Dean this was a nice reminding, helping him fill in some spaces where he had forgot. For Sam, this was like a whole new person that he just met.

"And that's our old house," Dean pointed to the small section of the house to the far left, behind their family. Sam ignored his comment and his index finger as his eyes continued to concentrate on his mother. His mom. That was his mom.

"Mom," he breathed, pulling the photo close to his chest and hugging it. Dean wrapped an arm around his little brother and tears started to run down Sam's face again.

"Dean!" John bellowed before he opened the door. Uh-oh, Dean thought as he remembered how annoyed his father got when the doors were closed. 'I want to know where you are. I want to be able to see you. And if the door is closed I can't do that.'

John stared at his two sons, quickly moving in to the room and kneeing in front of the two of them. He pulled Sam's chin up with his two fingers and examined the tear-filled face. "What happened?" John asked worriedly, his eyes moving to the exposed skin and not noticing any marks.

Sam stared at his father before looking back down at his chest. He pulled the picture away from his chest, handing it out towards John, and said, "I met Mom." John blinked in confusion as pain became evident on his face for a few moments. He took the picture, looked at it, then between his two sons and back down on it.

"Where did you get this?" John asked, staring at Dean, knowing that it had to be his oldest son that found it.

"Bobby gave it to me. He said he found it when he was fixing your car," Dean spoke, looking down at his feet, hoping that his father wasn't going to punish him for the picture. Though the picture was worth it; it reminded him of his mom.

"Oh," John moved to his feet and picked Sam up in his arms. Taking a seat next to Dean, he placed Sam in his lap and looked down at the photo that he still kept in his hands. He smiled at the picture before looking at his two sons. Dean's face was covered with worry until John's hand snaked its way onto his head and rubbed it, reassuring him that he wasn't in trouble. Sam was staring at the picture with interest and upset.


"Yeah Sammy?" John answered, turning his attention back to his youngest. He stared at the boy, awaiting the questions he knew were going to come.

"Dean says Mom's dead," Sam stated and he waited until John validated the statement with a nod. "Why?"

"Sammy, you know how I tell you not to play with the stove? To not play with matches because fire burns you?" John asked, repositioning his son on his lap. Sam nodded quickly, not sure where his father was going. "Well your mother died in a fire." John wasn't entirely sure he should be telling a five-year-old that his mother died in a fire, but he had no other way of saying it. He wasn't even sure what had really caused the fire. And he wasn't going to lie to his youngest—at least no more than he already had to.

Sam stared at his father with tears brimming on his eyelids, threatening to fall at any moment. John looked down at him with a slight frown as he stared at his young son. How could he be so stupid and expect a five-year-old to just take that for what it was? Why would he assume that bluntly telling the truth would be the right thing to do? Oh Mary, I need you.

Without John's knowledge Dean had made his way over to Sam and wrapped his arms around Sam. His head rested lightly on the younger Winchester's shoulder as his left arm wrapped around Sam's body. His left index finger pointed towards the only woman in the photo's hair before turning his head to look at Sam's face. "Mom had blonde hair like you." He emphasized his point by placing his hand on Sam's head and rubbing his hand through it. He smiled at his brother and hoped that the little kid would allow his older brother to deter him from the sorrowful truth.

Sam smiled back at his older brother before pulling the picture close to his heart again. Dean moved closer, "You can keep it."

Sam looked up at him again, with hope in his eyes. "I can!?"

"Yup." Dean nodded as he looked towards his father. John was staring at his two boys and wondered how the two of them found it so easy to accept. Dean was more of a parent than John was and he wondered how the little boy had gotten so good at it.

Sam hugged the photo close to his chest and ran towards the duffle bag. He widened the left side of the bag. He pulled the photo further away from his chest and stared at it a moment. He then gave it a kiss, right where his mom was, before placing it on top of his belongings. Sam turned towards his dad and his brother with a smile.

John got up and scooped Sam up into his arms. "What do you say we go to Bobby's for awhile?"

"Do ya think he has more pictures?" Sam asked excitedly.

"I'm sure he does," John replied, turning towards his nine-year-old and beckoning him forward. Dean slid off the bed and moved towards his family, grabbing hold of his father's hand. "We'll leave in the morning and I'm sure that Bobby will have his famous pancakes and bacon waiting for you."

Sam clapped his hands together as his father walked him back towards his bed—the one he shared with Dean. Placing his youngest on the bed, John began tucking Sam in as the youngest boy struggled to break free. "Wait wait!" Sam yelled, fighting his way out of his father's hands.

John ceased his action and sat on the bed as Sam got off of it. He ran towards the duffle and pulled the picture out again. "Goodnight Mommy," he spoke softly, giving the picture another kiss. He ran back towards his father and tried to jump into the man's lap, but was still too small.

John laughed as he bent down to pick up his five-year-old. He pulled him into his lap and Sam gave his dad a peck on the cheek. "Goodnight Daddy," he spoke and John noticed as his son's eyelids grew heavy.

"Goodnight Sammy."

"Goodnight Dean!" Sam yelled as John put the little boy into the bed and pulled the covers up to his neck. Sam smiled as his dad trapped him in the blankets.

"Goodnight Sammy," Dean spoke, watching his father and brother. He waited until his brother's eyes slid shut and walked out of the room with his father. The older man rubbed his face and fell onto the couch in front of the TV. Dean moved quickly towards his father before taking a seat next to him on the couch.

Dean rested his head against his father's side as they both watched TV, John's fingers rubbing the back of Dean's head and neck, making him squirm occasionally when he hit a ticklish spot.

"'Night Dad," Dean yawned before he fell asleep as well asleep against his father's body. John smiled down upon his son and wondered how through everything they'd been through, he still had two little boys that loved him and each other more than anything in the world.

The End.

A/N: Let me know what you think! And thank you for reading! And I know that in Something Wicked, Sam has dark hair, but when he was older, in A Very Supernatural Christmas and After School Special, he had blonde hair so I went with blonde hair.