Disclaimer: All standard disclaimers apply. Just having a little fun.

Goodbye, Harold

By: Vanessa Sgroi

"Sammy, c'mon! I poured your glass of milk and you can have the last two graham crackers, I swear." Nine-year-old Dean Winchester set the plastic glass down on the rickety square table in the tiny kitchen of the house their dad was currently renting, poured another glass for himself, and stuck the carton back in the ancient refrigerator.

The Winchester boys had gratefully arrived home from school fifteen minutes ago; the walk home having been chilly and windy with plump and sullen storm clouds threatening to erupt any minute. Five-year-old Sam had immediately run into the bedroom they shared to change his clothes. That he wasn't already back in the kitchen chattering away to his big brother all about his day was odd. Apprehension filled Dean, and he started for the back of the house.

Shoving open the thin door to the bedroom, he called out, "C'mon, Sammy. I gotta start my homework—" The older boy stopped mid-sentence when his kid brother's heartwrenching sobbing reached his ears. Fearing he was sick or hurt, Dean rushed forward to where Sam was sitting on his twin bed.

"Sammy, what's wrong?"

The five-year-old looked up at him, changeable topaz eyes swimming with tears. His flushed cheeks were shiny with the copious amounts that had already spilled over. Dark wisps of hair clung to the moisture. "H-H-Harold! Harold's d-d-dead." The little boy whimpered.

Dean's gaze traveled to the little clear plastic cage in Sam's hands where his beloved hamster, Harold, had resided for the past six months. Sure enough the furry brown-and-white rodent was curled up in the corner near his food dish unmoving. It had been a hard won fight to get their father to agree to allow Sam to keep a pet. On behalf of his younger sibling, Dean had employed every persuasive skill he had, finally convincing John it was doable and worth it to see the bright smile on Sam's face.

The older boy shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Aww, Sammy, Harold was just a hamster—a little rodent. No big deal." He knew the words came out totally wrong the moment they passed his lips. "I mean—"

"Nooooooo!" wailed Sam, "He wasn't just a hamster. He—He—He was my best friend!" The words were punctuated by nearly breathless sobs. "H-H-He—I-I t-talked to him every day and he—he listened to me. H-He l-l-loved me."

"Sammy…"

"And I l-loved him. Now I don't have an'body." The little boy whispered miserably. Giant tears quivered and dripped off his chin.

"You have me," offered Dean.

"N-No. You never wanna listen to me. You only really listen to Daddy. 'sides, you're just my big brother." Sam drummed the heels of his sneakers against the box springs.

"Big brothers can be friends too." Dean attempted a smile, but it didn't make it far before dropping away to oblivion.

Sam sniffled, scrunched his eyes shut, and hugged the cage closer to his chest.

Dean bit his lip, unsure what to do to help. He ran a hand through his short blondish hair. "Do you…uh…do you maybe wanna bury Harold?" The older boy cleared his throat. "W-We can do that you know—in the backyard."

"Is—Is that what we're supposta do?" whispered the devastated little boy.

"Yeah. I think so anyway. Why don't you go pick a spot, and I'll get a spoon to dig a hole."

After a long minute, the younger boy nodded and slipped off the bed, reluctantly making his way to the back door and out into the yard while Dean went and found an old spoon in the kitchen. Makeshift shovel in hand, he hurried to the backyard and found his kid brother standing under the one and only scrawny tree located there. Dropping to his knees, the nine-year-old quickly dug a small but deep hole in the damp ground. When Dean was finished, he gently pulled the cage from Sammy's arms and transferred Harold to his burial spot. He was surprised to feel tears fill his own eyes and spill over. Dean dashed them away with the back of his hand, leaving behind a few muddy streaks. "You—You wanna—I dunno—say something?"

Voice hoarse and thick with tears, Sammy murmured, "Goodbye, Harold. Y-You were the bestest friend—and hamster—ever. I'll never forget you." Before the echo of his words died away, the little boy spun on his heel and streaked back into the house. The slamming of the bedroom door could be heard from where Dean stood.

Fat raindrops began to fall as Dean knelt and began to refill the hole. "Goodbye, Harold." When he was finished, he picked up the now-empty cage and spoon and started for the house determined to pull his little brother into a hug and tell him that everything was going to be okay. And with a little bit of luck, Sammy was going to believe him. Now if he could just believe it himself.

Thunder rumbled overhead coinciding with the thudding of the door as it banged shut behind him.

Fin