Chapter 1 - Two Brothers
April 26th 1969, Lousiana
It wasn't uncommon for John to be gone for more extended periods. Still, he usually told the boys beforehand so they knew to prepare for it. Their father would often give Dean one of his many credit cards and leave them with some cash and coins for the laundromat. On especially tricky cases, such as this one, he would also leave his journal containing numbers they could call if the job took longer than first anticipated. And, of course, a .9mm gun with a full mag they were told to use only in emergencies. Sam, being the younger brother, wasn't allowed to even touch it, much to his dismay, especially because Dean was so damn smug about it.
After three weeks of hearing nothing from their father, the two boys agreed to call him for a status report. They didn't know much about the job; they knew that their father was hunting alone and was uncertain what kind of monster it was. That only made Sam worry more because their dad should've at least called them once by now. Unless.. Sam tries his best to push those thoughts aside, Dean reassures him that their dad can handle just about anything. John finally picked up after trying a few times. By the look on Dean's face, the way he bit his lip absentmindedly, and his gaze dropping to the floor, Sam could tell their father wasn't happy they had broken protocol. Stupid rule anyway, thinks Sam as he tosses himself onto one of the beds, grabbing for his well-worn copy of Dune.
"You're not seriously reading that junk again, are you?" Dean mocks as he slants down into the chair opposite Sam's bed.
"It's not junk," Sam mutters, not bothering to look up from his book.
"How many times have you read that now, anyways?" Dean inquires, bouncing his leg, eyes darting across the street outside. It's getting dark, and they haven't had dinner yet. Sam was starting to get really hungry. He frowns down at his book, trying to not think about it. That would only make the hunger worse.
"Only like twice," Sam lies, flipping the page.
"Mhm," Dean sighs a deep, over-exaggerated sigh and immediately gets up again, restless, pacing the room and rubbing his hands together. He picks up Dad's journal and flips through it, looking for the takeout menus. Two fall out, and Dean picks up the green one from the floor. Sam glances over and grimaces.
"I don't want pizza again," Sam grumbles, though his treacherous stomach rumbles hungrily. He was just so sick of the same meal over and over again.
"Well, too bad." Dean is also gruff and probably sick of pizza, but he won't admit it. He walks over to the phone on the wall, picking it up, cord swaying as he punches in the number, not needing to look at the menu anymore. Sam could really do with a new book, now on his fourth reread of Dune, but he knows money is getting tight and that the card had stopped working two days ago.
Luckily, Dean had managed to charm his way out of the many questions the front desk had had when they'd tried buying more water bottles and some snacks, saying his dad, Jeremy Byers, whose name was on the card, must've figured out he'd nicked it from him and called the bank to have them shut it off. It was a close call; the young girl behind the desk had even gone over to the phone to contact the authorities but was obviously smitten with Dean. She'd let them get two bottles for free if they promised not to tell her mother, who ran the motel. She kept the card, though, and said she'd return it to their dad when he returned. Sam had easily stolen it back that night; his lockpicking skill had improved dramatically in the past few weeks, much to Dean's pride. Sam had beamed up at him when he got a solid pat on the back and an "Atta boy!". It didn't feel fair; Sam only had to hold the tools in the lock, and it was as if they had unlocked it themselves for him.
"Can I get a large pepperoni, no onion?" Dean's voice always sounded funny to Sam whenever he made phone calls, more profound and more "grown-up" in a way. He wouldn't tease him about it today; he didn't have it in him to pick a fight. Usually, Sam loved picking a fight with Dean and had been in countless screaming matches with their father, but … The one they had had last night was… well, he just didn't want any more fighting for a while.
"Yeah, sure," Dean replies in a husky voice to something they had said on the other line. Mhm. Yep. Delivery, yeah. "He then proceeds to give them the address to the motel before promptly hanging up with an unenthusiastic "thanks. "
"They said it'd be 20 minutes," Dean tells him, sitting back down and fiddling with the radio. Sam nods, flipping the page. "Only shit music on this channel," Dean grumbles and starts flipping through channels.
"Mhm," Sam agrees, not really agreeing; he quite liked Elvis, actually. But it wasn't "cool" enough for Dean, apparently. As if Elvis wasn't cool. Sam rolled his eyes involuntarily. Whatever.
"I was thinking we could go out tomorrow, look around town, maybe get you a new book or something," Dean casually mentions as he leans back after finding a channel to his tastes. Sam thinks he recognizes the band but can't quite place it.
"Oh yeah?" he replies, cursing himself at how his heart skipped a beat, excited about the prospect of a new read.
"Yeah, I got some extra cash off that sleazy guy next door. He was so smashed I probably could've slapped him, and he'd still be passed out!" Dean says with a grin, waving a wad of cash before him. "I didn't take all, of course, only about one-third, so he wouldn't get too suspicious, but there's at least thirty bucks in here, Sammy!"
"It's Sam," Sam insists, and it comes out quite whiny. He bites his lip, cursing himself for being such a crybaby.
"It's Sammy if you want a new book," Dean teases, dropping a $10 bill on top of his book. Sam tries not to let his mouth fall open. He could get way more than one book with this kind of money …
"Why couldn't you just take a book from his room instead? He'll notice money missing." Sam slides the bill aside, flipping the page but still watching the tenner in his peripheral vision. He really wants to take it.
"You think Hank reads?" Dean laughs as if that's the funniest thing he's ever heard. Sam stares daggers at him.
"Stealing is wrong," Sam points out.
"Oh quit it," Dean counters, quickly grabbing the $10 bill back. "If you're suddenly gonna get all high horsey with me, then I'll keep it for myself, maybe get some more magazines or something," he flashes Sam a cheeky grin, the dimples he usually hates on full display. He leans over the edge of the bed, pulling up Sam's backpack and empties the contents out on the bed.
"Hey!" Sam exclaims, getting up quickly to gather his things.
"Come on now, look at this, it's sad! You've read all of these, haven't you?" Dean gestures to the books on the bed. Sam quickly stuffs the bunny plush back in his bag, cheeks burning red.
"Yeah, so what? Books can be read more than once, you idiot,"
"Sorry, what was that?" Dean mocks, putting a finger behind his ear, leaning in, daring Sam to keep going.
"You're an idiot Dean," Sam says again, slowly, with special emphasis on idiot, looking straight into his big brother's mischievous eyes, head held high. Dean's grin grows more expansive, and in a moment, he has Sam in a headlock, holding him firmly, rubbing the top of his head fast, and hard, with his knuckles. It burns.
"Get off me, you jerk!"
"Make me, bitch," Dean challenges. He doesn't give up, but Sam struggles against him, repeatedly shoving his elbow into Dean's stomach. It doesn't seem to be very effective. Sam grunts, then he stomps on Dean's foot as hard as he can with his heel before biting down hard on his forearm and shoving his elbow into Dean, lower this time. Dean groans and lets go immediately, falling forward, clutching his .. lower region. Despite the pain, he's still smiling.
"There you go," he hisses between bated breaths. I knew you could do it," the last barely escapes his mouth. He's in a lot of pain. Sam has a grin of his own now, smiling down at his brother.
"Dirty, but effective," Dean pants and straightens up, still with a hand covering himself. Sam is smiling, but with his back now facing Dean, as he's gathering up his things to put them back in his bag. He's got quite the impressive collection of books now, if he may say so himself. He counts them again, and yep, there's seventeen of them now. He's read all of them already, of course, and his bag has gotten really heavy. Sam bites his lip, worried John might make him get rid of some of them.
"You want me to take some in my bag?" Dean offers, clearly catching on to Sam's worries as the last five books don't fit in his already gaping backpack.
"Uh yeah, thanks," Sam is grateful; really, he is, but he wishes he didn't have to be. He wants more books. And he knows he won't be able to fit anymore. Actually, he wants his own bookshelf. His own room, where he could keep his things on display, and not just stuffed into a backpack all the time. He wants his own bed, not some smelly, slightly damp and awfully hard bed like the ones he's forced to sleep in now. Last month had been even worse, he'd have to share a bed with Dean. Sam wrinkles his nose thinking about it.
"Could you join me tomorrow to get the laundry done?" Dean asks, while flipping casually through one of his magazines.
"Why?" Sam doesn't look up.
"Out of coins, and don't feel like paying for the exchange, anyways."
Sam smiles to himself then. He doesn't understand how he does it, but for some reason, the machine doesn't need coins whenever Sam helps with the laundry. It just.. turns on for him. Dean joked he was a laundry magician and asked if they could just skip the washing machine altogether and have Sam just snap his fingers to clean their clothes instead. Things like that made Sam laugh. He thinks his brother was good at that, making Sam feel good. Maybe he's been too much of a brat lately, but between waiting on Dad to return, and not having any new books or friends to play with - there's not much to do. Doesn't help that they're out of school at the moment too. Dad promised to enroll them when he returned, but the school system here is pretty lax. No one had followed up on their absence, simply because they didn't even know Sam and Dean existed. Sam has thought a lot about this, and he thinks it's probably because Dad's been using many new names lately. Dean doesn't want to talk about that though, saying it's "adult stuff". Sam tried to point out that Dean himself wasn't an adult, but he said he might as well be, and being thirteen is pretty close to adulthood. Sam doesn't really know about that one, but he didn't want to argue.
Dean picks up Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and starts flipping through it. Sam bites his lip, chewing on it. He shouldn't.. he really shouldn't. Then he closes his eyes, feeling his heart beat nearly out of his chest before turning around, now looking directly at his brother.
"Dean?"
"Yeah, Sammy?"
"Do you ever…" Sam searches his mind for a way to ask what he so desperately wants to ask. Dean's brows furrow.
"What?"
"I just, I don't know, I guess I'm just sick of pizza, and waiting around all the time, and the motels, and always being the new kid in school, and not having any friends-"
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
"You have friends," Dean interrupts, arms crossed. He leans against the wall next to the door, clearly getting defensive.
"Not really, no." Sam looks down at his hands.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying… do you not want to, like-"
"No Sam."
"No?"
"No."
Sam sinks down, defeated. Great. Just then, there's a knock on the door. Dean's already reaching for the gun both sets of eyes fly to it. But then his shoulders sink, and he relaxes.
"Food's here." He spins around and opens the door, leaving only a little gap.
"Yeah?" he says. Sam can't make out what the person on the other side is saying. Dean opens the door further, taking the box from their hands. He pays, then quickly closes the door "Thanks, bud." Sam's stomach rumbles loud enough for Dean to hear, which makes him chuckle.
"Sick of pizza, are you?" Dean teases. "Maybe I'll just eat it myself?"
"No!" Sam bursts out before he can stop himself.
"No? Fine, dig in then," Dean laughs and flips open the box, picking up a cheesey slice for himself, eating it immediately. Bad idea, it's really hot and Dean does a weird breathing thing for a moment, his mouth a perfect circle and he sounds a bit like a monkey. Sam laughs. He can't help it.
"You wittle shut!" Dean warns, mouth full but laughing, too; he looks and sounds pretty ridiculous right now. Sam grabs a slice too, blowing on it gently before taking a bite. It's… excellent actually. Sam sighs and keeps eating. Damn it, why did this pizza have to be so good?
"Oh man," Dean says, already on his second slice. "And you said you were sick of pizza."
"You know what I mean."
"Yeah," Dean admits. He wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. "But listen Sammy, you know the work we do? It's important. We're saving lives."
"We're not doing anything, Dean!" Sam counters resentfully. "You and me are just sitting around, waiting on Dad."
"It won't always be like that, someday soon I'll get to go with him and then-"
"Then?! What about me then?!" Sam drops his slice dramatically, and huffs. "What about me, Dean? Am I supposed to wait around alone for the both of you? I don't want to do that!"
"We're not doing this again Sam, I already told you yesterday-"
"No, you're just bossing me around!"
"I'm not!"
"You are!"
"Well someone's gotta look out for you, don't they?" Dean's eyes are filled with anger. This doesn't scare Sam in the slightest, he knows his brother. He's all bark.
"Dad should look out for us, Dean!"
"And you think he doesn't? Everything Dad does is to keep us safe, you idiot-"
"No! Dad should be here!" Sam is standing now, so is Dean, the pizza is completely forgotten about. Sam fists are clenched together, his jaw is tense, shoulders stiff. Dean eyes him warily.
"You're saying that as if he has a choice," Dean spits words dripping with venom.
"He does!" Sam is grinning now, but it's not a happy smile. Oh no, it absolutely is not a happy smile. "He could just be a normal dad, Dean, but he doesn't want to!"
"He's saving lives, Sam-"
"He's not-"
"Of course he is, what do you even-"
"He's looking for what killed-"
"I am not doing this Sam, you better shut up, right now-"
"Mom is dead, Dean, she's dead and Dad leaving us for weeks and weeks isn't bringing her back-"
Sam shuts up. Not because he wanted to, but because Dean had slapped him. Hard. His eyes widen in shock at what he just did to his little brother, whose lip is split, and eyes welling with tears.
"Fuck you."
The door opens, then slams shut, and Dean is alone in the motelroom.
*
May 2nd 1969, Lousiana
Two days later, and the boys have made up. Sort of. They're not speaking to each other, but Sam knows it'll pass. His lip is a lot better, but the bruise on his cheek has turned an awful shade of purple. None of them have commented about it though. It's better that way, Sam thinks. If they don't talk, they can't argue; if they can't argue,… that's good. Sam doesn't really like arguing, but… sometimes.. sometimes he feels like he'll explode if he can't get all of his anger out. It sort of builds up, and it's like shaking a cola, eventually the pressure gets too high, and when the cap finally comes off, because it has to come off, the coke inside just goes everywhere. Sam can't help but release a small, choked laugh at the mental picture of that, imagining himself shaking a can, and opening it next to a sleeping Dean.
"What are you giggling about?" Dean asks grumpily, breaking the silence.
"Nothing," Sam says quickly. Too quickly.
"You're such a girl."
"Shut up jerk."
"Whatever."
Silence again.
Sam bites the inside of his cheek, tasting blood. He shouldn't. But he really, really wants to. What difference does it make anyways? It's just a day, like every other. It doesn't matter that Dad isn't here; he hasn't been here for weeks. Dean has probably forgotten too, and Sam is just being a girl. He's stupid, he thinks and rolls over to face the wall. He traces his finger across the intricate lines of the flower pattern. It's such an ugly tapestry, Sam thinks. His room would be painted green, he knows it would. Maybe it was green? The room he had had as a baby. His brows furrow, and he tries to think back and remember, just… anything really, any detail from the room he once had. He knew he had had a crib, but all babies had that. Did he have one of those dingly dangly things some babies had? What were they called again.. He'd seen them in movies, and they'd have all sorts of shapes in different sizes attached to a big, round thing. Then, it would spin around, and some of them even played music, he thought. Did he have any toys? Wait, did babies even have toys? He was so young, before-
Sam blinks hard. He remembers Bunny at least- the rabbit plush, he corrects himself quickly. He still has that. It had been his first stuffed animal, Dean has told him, and even then, with his little hands, he'd held onto it as Dean ran with him through the halls, down the stairs and out the front door-
No. He doesn't want to think about that right now. His room, that's what he's picturing. He's sure it was painted green. Green's his favorite color after all. Green like…
No, no. No.
Sam has had enough reminiscing for today, thank you very much. He throws his legs over the side of the bed, and stands up.
"Where're you going?" Dean asks, getting up too and grabbing his leather jacket.
"Out."
"I can see that, can I come?"
"No."
"Come on, let me come."
"Fine." Sam surrenders. He doesn't really know where he's going, and some company would be nice, especially today.
"Alrigh'!" Dean smiles, the first genuine smile he's had in days.
*
It's late when the boys finally return to their room, cokes in hand, laughing heartily, Dean's arm slung lazily around Sam's shoulder. Even though Dean's older, he's not much taller, much to his dismay, and to Sam's great amusement.
"Dude, that was so awesome," Dean says as he unlocks the door with the key. "I don't get how you can be so damn sneaky, it was as if you disappeared for a moment there,"
"Right?" Sam is so giddy, his body still full of adrenaline. He drops the plastic bag on the bed, its contents spilling out. There were bars of chocolate, lots of Razzles and Stardust, three bags of different chips, a ranch dip, lots of different sour candies (Sam's favorite), more bottles of coke and even, a pack of cigarettes. Dean even let him have one, which, unfortunately, wasn't as exciting as Sam had thought. He'd taken one long drag and immediately started coughing uncontrollably, while Dean nearly buckled over with laughter.
"Dude, you were so awesome," Dean's smile grows more expansive as he throws himself into the armchair, stretching his legs and arms simultaneously, looking like a starfish. Sam can't stop smiling.
"That was so cool, Dean!" Sam laughs and starts ripping off the wrapping paper from one of the chocolate bars. He bites into it, and is met with a deliciously rich flavor of caramel, and crunchy biscuit. It's so good Sam could cry, they hadn't had a sweet treat like this in weeks.
"Oh and, I have something for you, Sammy," Dean says suddenly, as if just remembering. He flips around in the chair, bending over it, reaching for something stuffed underneath it, on the other side. Sam looks on curiously. Then, Dean pulls out a BIG box, it's even wrapped with proper paper, not newspapers, but a wrapping paper with dinosaurs on it. Dean beams proudly, and hands it to Sam.
"Happy birthday, little brother," he says gleefully and sits back down, biting down on his chocolate bar.
Sam can't help it; his smile is growing wide, because Dean remembered. He didn't think he had, but this explains why he did everything Sam wanted to do today. Getting ice cream before breakfast, then having said breakfast not in the dingy motel room, no, but having breakfast at the local diner! Sam got to order exactly what he wanted, and oh my gosh, he loves eggs and bacon so much. The toast too, was so delicious and felt so normal. Sam loved it. Then they went to the park, Dean had pulled out a loaf of bread, and they fed the ducks, then chased them around the park like a couple of dogs. Dean had made Sam laugh so hard he almost peed himself, barking madly when he started chasing them around. After that, Dean suggested they go to the dog shelter, knowing Sam loved it there. Looking at and playing with dogs they'll never get to own was sort of bittersweet, but it was one of Sam's favorite pastimes. Dean rarely agreed to go, but today, he had. He'd done everything Sam wanted to do.
When Sam said he wished he had a coke as the day was coming to an end, Dean cheekily dared him to pick the lock of the kiosk, knowing the old man running it had long since gone home for the night. Sam got it open on the first try, the little rascal, and the boys' had enthusiastically grabbed as much as they could reasonably carry in a plastic bag before running back to the motel, feeling on top of the world. And for that moment, they were.
"Go on, open it!" Dean encourages, and Sam begins ripping the paper off. It's wrapped with duct tape and doesn't necessarily look very pretty, but Sam only cares about what's inside, and when the paper's finally off, and there's only the box left, he flips the flaps open and-
"No!" Sam exclaims and his hand flies to his mouth. Dean has the biggest grin ever on his face and nods, delighted by Sam's reaction. "Dean, you didn't!"
Inside, there's a brand new bag, with the letters S A M cut out of a pair of jeans it looks like, stitched clumsily to the front. The bag is much bigger than Sam's current backpack, and it seems like it's even padded on the inside.
"To keep your books safe," Dean comments, seeing Sam feel the material between his hands. It's almost enough to make Sam cry. "There's more!"
Sam looks up at Dean incredulously and then back down; he zips the bag all the way open and-
There are three new books in there! There's Fantastic Mr. Fox, Lord of the Flies, and The Hobbit! Sam's eyes well up with tears, and he quickly wipes them away, hugging the Hobbit to his chest. He's been wanting to read this one for ages!
"That's the one, uh, with the one true ring or whatever, right? I recognized the writer-"
"Yes, Lord of the Rings!" Sam is shocked Dean remembered. Lord of the Rings was Sam's favorite book series. He'd read them countless times and didn't think he'd ever get sick of them.
"And this one?" Dean asks, holding up Lord of the Flies. Sam can't help but laugh.
"Uh, it's not the same, but thanks anyways, Dean, I really appreciate it!"
"Nah, it was nothing," Dean blushes slightly but waves it away. "There's also some pencils in there and a new drawing pad - I saw you were out."
"Dean.."
"Don't mention it."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome, Sammy."
That night, Sam stays up under the covers, reading the Hobbit, and Dean doesn't tell him off. He just lets him, turns around, and falls asleep with a smile.