Chapter Text
Dean’s daddy is dead?
This is bad.
Sam’s dad had come in to tell him he was leaving the house to go and get Dean because he was alone; because his dad was gone.
Dean had no mom either.
What was going to happen to Dean?
John had brought Dean in and laid him on the spare bed in Sam’s room and he just lay there all curled up in a ball. Crying.
Sam sat in his bed hugging his knees to his chest. Freaking out just a little bit.
Dean was a big boy, Sam had thought. Big boys don’t cry. Dean had taught him that. Sam tried to imagine his daddy not being there and he could sort of do it. Of course there was still a ranch and Mrs. Gooding still made oatmeal every morning and there was still all his stuff, so he wasn’t sure if his daddy was gone or just in the den not looking at him. This was a stupid game, Sam thought.
He watched Dean shaking and heard him snuffling and something moved in his little tummy and he felt himself unfold off his bed and his feet hit the floor. Mrs. Gooding hadn’t washed his pjs yet and all he had left were the silly ones with the feet. He hated the silly ones with the feet.
Silly woman.
He made his way quietly across the room.
* * *
Alone.
Dean was alone.
John came to his house and woke him up just to tell him he was alone.
What is a kid supposed to do with that? Dean had curled himself into a ball making it easy for John to carry him all that way from their cottage to the big house. “It’s okay boy.” John had soothed, but it wasn’t okay. No mommy, never a mommy, but now no daddy. How could that be okay?
Dean only barely registered John carrying him up the staircase to Sammy’s room. Not Sammy, not tonight. Dean just stayed in the little ball when John laid him in the bed. Just stayed safe in his little cocoon and hoped that Sammy wouldn’t wake up. When Dean didn’t hear anything he felt safe enough to let it go and he cried. Great heaving sobs til he thought he would be sick or he would die himself.
No daddy.
He never heard Sam come and was a little surprised when the bed dipped behind him. He almost smiled to himself. Sammy hated those silly pajamas with the feet. He was about to roll over and tell Sam to leave him alone when the little hand just reached out and pet his hair. Over and over the little hand stroked through Dean’s short hair. Soothing, comforting, not needy or annoying, just . . . right.
It didn’t take long, Dean had cried so hard and had already been asleep, but with Sam stroking his hair and his little voice saying, “Shhh.” over and over, Dean felt himself drifting and finally he was asleep.
The rhythm was disturbing.
“Shhh.”
“Alone.”
“Shhh.”
“Alone.”
“Shhh.”
“Alone. . .”