A Weechester Fic
Sammy’s New Toy
John Winchester was enjoying a nice, carefree afternoon at Bobby’s house. Bobby was gone, and Dean was outside running off some energy after sitting in school all day. That left John cleaning guns while he watched baby Sammy playing on the floor with his blocks. John took one last look at the revolver he had just finished cleaning before placing it on the coffee table.
A crash from outside along with a cry of pain from his eldest had John racing out of the house leaving a curious little guy inside alone.
Sammy looked up at the slam of the door. “Dada?” he said timidly. No answer. Sammy looked around the empty room. Dada was nowhere in sight, but Dada’s shiny toy was lying on the table just out of reach. Sammy looked around once more before grabbing hold of the recliner behind him. He slowly pulled himself up on wobbly legs, took a step, and fell on his well padded behind. Not to be deterred, Sammy placed his hands on the floor and pushed himself back up. This time he managed to take three steps before he fell. Sammy pushed himself up again. Slowly he wobbled over to the coffee table, and his chubby, little fingers closed over the handle of the gun.
A moment later John came walking inside carrying a still crying Dean and almost had his second heart attack of the day. There by the coffee table stood his baby sucking on the barrel of his revolver! John slowly lowered Dean to the floor and walked toward Sammy. Not wanting to frighten his little boy, John stopped a few feet from his son and held out his hand.
“Sammy, give daddy the gun,” he said as calmly as he could manage under the circumstances.
“No, mine!” Sammy shouted while hugging the gun to his chest.
I knew I’d regret letting Dean teach him to talk, John thought. John tried again. Putting on his “mad daddy face” he ordered, “Sammy, give me the gun!”
“No!” Sammy shouted back, stomping his little foot in anger.
Dean walked up beside John. “Sammy, I fell and got a boo-boo See?” Dean said pointing to his skinned knee. “Can you come kiss it and make it better?”
“Dee hurt?” Sammy asked, looking up at his big brother.
Figuring out what Dean was doing, John responded “Yes Sammy, Dean’s hurt and he needs you to make it better. Can you do that, Sammy?”
Sammy paused for a moment, looking from the gun to Dean and back again.
“Okay, dada.” Sammy said. He threw the gun down, giving John another heart attack, and slowly walked over to Dean.
“Hey, dad! Look! Sammy’s walking!” Dean shouted. He grabbed his little brother up and swung him around.
Great, John thought as he looked around Bobby’s living room. That’s just my luck.
“Dean, take your brother to the kitchen and keep him busy for awhile.” John instructed.
John spent the rest of the afternoon Sammy proofing Bobby’s house and praying that Sammy didn’t learn to climb anytime soon. He didn’t think his heart could take it.
The End