I am not going to eat you - Chapter 3
I am not going to eat you
Fandom - Supernatural
Pairings - none
Rating - PG13/R (maybe)
Disclaimer - This also goes for chapters 1-2. I do not own Supernatural nor any known characters, nor do I make any money off this piece of fiction. I don’t know why I have to state this, but I do. @_@
Warnings - Blood, guts and glory. Eventually. *lol*
A/N - This is a wee!chester fic. Thanks loads to Real_Funky_Town for encouraging me to do this.
Chapter 3 - Sunday’s are for Stories
John swiped a hand over his stubbled chin. Sam sat on the floor; tears running down his cheeks and sobbing as if the world had just come to an end. It didn’t matter what the problem was, Dean was playing with Jarrod from next door without his younger brother. Dean would have dragged Sam along, normally, but John was determined to give Dean some time to himself. After all, it had to get tiring to always be looking after Sam.
John stooped and picked Sam up; “Look it here, champ, sometimes its all right to not be with Dean,” John said.
Sam blubbered something that John couldn’t fathom and continued crying. Maybe his boys spent way too much time together. Not that he could change that. He’d been dragging them across the country since Dean was four years old himself. They’d stayed in the back seat of the Impala when John did a simple salt and burn. Later, when they were older and Dean understood the danger - John left them at the Motel rooms he’d rent for a week. He also left them emergency credit cards to use if he hadn’t rejoined them at the allotted time.
Sam wrapped his small arms around John’s neck. He sniffed but snot still dripped from his nose; “Dean come back?” he asked. John took a handkerchief from his pocket and whipped away tears and snot.
“Yes, he’ll be back soon,” John promise, “why don’t you and I do something, instead?”
“Can I have a story?” Sam asked with a slight whimper. John smiled as they traipsed into the living room.
“Sure, baby, what do you want to hear?” John asked. They settled on Briar Rabbit. Sam sat quietly in his father’s lap as John read him the story. His Father’s deep, baritone voice softly dragged Sam to sleep. It was quite past Sam’s nap time and John suspected that was the cause of half Sam’s tantrum.
John was snoring an hour later, when Dean arrived home. Bat and glove in hand, the kid was quiet. He smiled at his Dad and Sam. It was a Kodak moment if Dean ever saw one. He softly brought out the click-and-throw-away camera he had swiped from a convenience mart some time in Texas. Dad’s head was thrown back and Sam had snuggled into the crook of shoulder and neck for better perchance. Dean clicked the button twice. He wanted a good snap shot. Not a dorky one, than-you-very-much.
He smiled as he put his things to the side; “Dad,” he called softly.
“Yes son,” John replied. Maybe he hadn’t been asleep as Dean figured when he’d arrived home. But he decided not to say anything. The pictures weren’t for them, anyway.
“Was Sammy all right after I left?” Dean asked.
“He cried a bit, but settled down eventually,” John replied, he looked down at the child within his arms and smiled. Sam was adorable in all his many forms, though sometimes, John felt that he was failing the kid - both kids - whenever they acted up and he gave them what they wanted. According to all the parenting guides he’d read, that wasn’t appropriate for child-rearing.
“Cool,” Dean nodded.
“How was your outing?” John asked.
“Fine, I guess,” Dean crinkled his nose in thought, “actually, something weird did happen,”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I don’t know exactly what it is, I can hardly remember why I needed to tell you,” Dean sat down on the couch and kicked his legs back and forth. “I mean…I heard this voice, it was a man’s voice. I’m sure about that much,”
“What did it say, or can’t you remember?” John lent forward a bit. Sam didn’t move.
“It was calling my name, I tried to figure out where it was coming from, I think it wanted me to go into the forest, ya know that bit of timber outside Gregor’s Field?”
John nodded, he knew the one; “you didn’t follow it, did you?” John asked.
“No way, I didn’t have my gun and Jarrod was with me. I didn’t think I should drag him into something Supernatural that we weren’t sure about in the first place,” Dean replied.
“I’m proud of you son, that was the right thing to do,” John stood. Sam started to wake up by swiping a small fist across one eye.
“Dean…?” Sam looked about sleepily, when he saw his big brother he gave Dean a huge, toothy grin, “You back!”
Dean smiled and approached, John handed Sam to Dean; “Yeah, sport! Here I am,” Dean ticked Sam under the chin. Sam laughed.
“Okay, its way past dinner time, lets have some left over’s,” John clapped Dean on the shoulder as he passed by on the way to the kitchen. Dean followed. He deposited Sam in his highchair and got the kid some apple juice in his favorite red sippy-cup. Sam gurgled to himself and kicked his legs in tandem.
“Dad, do you think that whatever was talking to me could have taken Laura?” Dean asked quietly so as to not alert Sam.
“Maybe, we’ll be laying down double salt lines around the house to night,” John replied.
“Do you want Sam to sleep with me tonight?” Dean asked.
“Not yet, I don’t think it’s necessary, yet,”
“Famous last words, Dad,” Dean muttered before he went about setting the table.
- - -
Sam sat in his crib, watching Dean crawl about the floor. Salt trailed behind him in a thin, even line. Sam held his stuffed elephant close and craned his head to see what Dad was doing out in the hallway.
“I’ve set a couple more Devils Traps, just in case,” John called.
“Okay, I’ve set a double thick salt line,” Dean replied tersely.
“Salt keeps baddies away!” Sam added. Dean looked up and gave his younger brother a look before rolling his eyes and going back to work.
“That’s right, Sammy,” John now stood at he entrance to Sam’s bedroom. Dean had insisted on sleeping with Sam tonight, just to make sure that whatever had called to him earlier that afternoon, wouldn’t be about trying to get to Sam. As it was, Sammy was placed in his crib as far away from the window as possible, and Dean had place his day bed in between Sam and the door. It was a rickety old thing and quite easy for an eight year old to move.
“I’ll be in the living room tonight, Dean,” John stepped over the salt lines, not a grain moved in his passing.
Dean stood; “I know it sounds stupid, Dad, but I just…” Dean trailed off.
“Never dismiss your gut son,” John nodded, “Even if nothing happens tonight, its better to be prepared to live than dead,”
“Right,” Dean sighed, “anyway, I won’t let anything happen to Sammy,” Dean and John both looked at Sam who was yawning. He’d stayed up later than usual because of his late afternoon nap and it was getting on midnight. John approached the crib and helped Sam to lie down. He pulled up the old orange, motel blanket his kids liked to cart around with them and then he bent low to give Sam a light kiss on the forehead.
“Sleep tight, baby,” he muttered.
“Nite, nite, Daddy,” Sam yawned. John turned and tucked Dean into bed, he made sure that Dean’s gun was loaded and that there was an extra magazine in case it was needed. Then he tucked Dean into bed and kissed him on the forehead as well; “Sleep well, boy-o,”
On his way out of the room, John double checked the salt lines, for his sake more than Dean’s and his oldest knew at least that much about how paranoid he was - though John didn’t think he was paranoid enough - and then he turned out the light. The only bit of light in the boy’s room was the small lamp laying near Sam’s crib. It was a weird night light, John thought, why would Sam have a clown night light in the first place?
And then it hit him, today had been May second.
He’d completely forgot about Sam’s birthday.
TBC