A/N; So a new fiction, that's what you get when I'm stressed out of my mind lol. Wee!chesters this time though, and let's just agree on the fact that I'm not that expert so forgive me if this completely blows. I was watching an anime a couple of days a go and SNAP, it inspired me to write this. Anyways, I hope you like it ;)

Unbeta'd - all the mistakes are mine.

Disclaimer - I own nothing, more's the pity.

The First Word

Sammy was crying. The only thing he seemed to be doing these days was crying and Dean had no idea what to do to make him stop and calm down.

Sammy never cried that bad, not since the first couple of months after the fire, but afterwards he was usually a quiet baby, except when he was sick or hungry or wanted to sleep or just something else that Dean, in this very young age, couldn't really register. He wasn't even six years old, yet. It was hard for him to figure out why his brother was still crying after Dean had already checked his still-clean diaper and fed him and tried to make him sleep to no avail.

Dad was late; he was late a lot these days. Dean had heard him on the phone with pastor Jim a couple of days ago, saying something about a new lead on the thing that killed his mother, and that was why he might swing by and drop them—Sammy and him—for a few days if he had to take off. Dean hoped dad wouldn't go, though. Dean really needed him around, even if he was already doing most of the work on his own since he turned five. Dad rarely changed any of Sammy's diapers anymore, or prepared his baby bottle—and when he did he always forgot to test the milk temperature before he fed it to Sammy, who would then burst into a crying fit because of the too hot liquid and Dean would have to make him settle down.

Not to mention the showers, which were really hard to handle with his own still too skinny and little frame, and if it weren't for the couple of times he had watched his mother bath Sammy he wouldn't have even known how to do it on his own. It wasn't like he was complaining; God knew he would rather do everything for Sammy instead of his dad who was just clumsy with his baby brother ever since the fire. And also not to forget the fact that he wasn't sober most of the time, either.

Dean had overheard Mike—dad's friend whom they stayed at his house after the fire for a couple of months—and his wife Kate talking to his father about cutting down on the drinking because his sons needed him sober and that drinking wouldn't solve anything or do anyone good, specially John. But dad wouldn't listen. Dean would sometimes climb out of Sammy's crib in the middle of the night and find him still up with a bottle of adult's drink in his hand, sometimes passed out if Dean was lucky so he could sneak the bottle out of his father's slack fingers and throw a comforter over him, before climbing back into Sammy's bed and curling around him to protect him from whatever might come out of the dark at night.

But he wasn't here now, and Sammy was still crying, and nothing Dean had done in the past two hours made him stop.

There was bounding on the door all of a sudden, which made Sammy cry harder and Dean tried his best to hold back tears of frustration. He knew it wasn't his father, because dad knew the secret knock, and Dean knew he shouldn't answer if the knock was different.

So he sat still where he was on the bed, hands clutched to his brother's tiny body and started rocking them both and whispered softly in his brother's ear, ''Shh, Sammy. It's okay, it's okay.''

''Hey, you assholes!'' A woman's voice boomed from the other side of the door and Dean jumped, unconsciously tightening his hold over Sammy and making him whimper. ''Would you shut the fucking baby up? The walls are too damn thin and there're people who need to sleep here!''

Dean kept as quiet as possible, hushing his baby brother and putting a gentle hand over his mouth to muffle his cries, afraid if they made more noises the woman would burst into the room and maybe hurt them—or worse, take Sammy away.

''I swear you people are as shitty parents as mine used to be. If you could take care of him properly he wouldn't be giving a headache to the whole damn building!'' Dean heard her say before he heard her footsteps move away from their room and let out the breath he didn't know he was holding. Apparently the woman figured that no one was going to answer her and just gave up. And for that Dean was really grateful.

He wasn't taking care of Sammy? What did this woman know? He always tried his best to fulfill his baby brother's needs, even the ones he couldn't fully do for himself. He even tried his best to take care of his dad when he was really upset and wouldn't eat and just kept drinking.

But Sammy was still crying, and if only he could talk to tell Dean what he needed so Dean could just do it and make him stop, that would be great! He wondered if babies cried on purpose to drive their parents crazy—or in his case, drive their big brothers crazy. Did babies actually like crying? Like they liked food and sleep and hugs? And if not, why wouldn't Sammy stop crying then if he didn't like it? So many questions and Dean was just so tired. He didn't know what to do anymore.

''What, Sammy?'' Frustrated, he shouted at last in his baby brother's face. ''I can't understand you, so why don't you just tell me what you need!''

And Sammy just kept on crying, which made Dean only angrier.

''Tell me, what do you need? TELL ME!'' He screamed and Sammy only stopped for a second, wide bloodshot, hazel eyes staring back at him intensely before he burst out in tears and sobs again and slapped Dean's cheek with his tiny right hand.

Dean froze for a second before the realization of what he had just done downed on him.

''Oh, my God! What am I doing?'' After staring at his brother with fear for a few seconds, Dean wrapped his arms around Sammy's little body and hugged him towards his chest. ''Oh, my God! I'm so sorry, Sammy. I didn't mean to yell at you, I'm so sorry!''

He could feel Sammy's little hand—the one he used to slap his cheek—clutch around the material of his T-shirt while Sammy sobbed into his chest. He didn't even feel his own tears as they slipped down his cheeks and into Sammy's hair until tiny fingers were clumsily wiping them away and smeared them all over his face instead.

''And now I'm crying!'' Dean whimpered, surprised at his own weakness. ''What kind of a big brother am I, ha?'' He wasn't sure if he was talking to himself or to Sammy. All he knew was that he had to pull himself together and let his frustration at his baby brother slip away—because Sammy didn't mean to cry just to make him go out of his mind. He hugged him even tighter, and in a few minutes Sam calmed down and was out like a light in his arms.

…..

So, dad did take off. Dean didn't want him to leave, but of course he couldn't just say that to his father. Dad was different ever since the fire—ever since mom died. He never hugged Dean anymore, though he would hug Sammy and for that Dean was grateful—and sometimes a bit jealous, he never read or sang for him before sleep anymore, either. He hardily made them home-made food anymore, everything they ate these days—these months—came into a can or take out boxes. What hurt the most—though he wouldn't admit it to anybody, much less his father—was the fact that dad wanted him to call him 'sir' more than 'dad'. Dean didn't exactly know where that was coming from, but he figured it might have something to do with the training and wrestling lessons he was receiving from his father for a while now. Though, he watched boxers on TV call the men who trained them 'coach', but maybe that was because not all these men were ex-marines like his father.

So, here they were at Pastor Jim's house. Before dad left he told him that he wouldn't be gone long this time and that he would have to listen to Pastor Jim and do as he said, and most important; watch out for Sammy. Dean had said ''Yes, sir.'' and dad clapped him gruffly on the shoulder, with a half smile before he left. He watched his dad get in the Impala and leave while he stood on the house porch and held Sammy's little hand in his.

After that, Pastor Jim escorted them to the backyard of the house to play while he fixed them some lunch. It was one of the good things about staying at Pastor Jim's house, or Bobby's, that Dean wouldn't have to do everything on his own for just a few days, and there was a grown up around just in case Sammy got sick or his tummy hurt in the middle of the night and Dean didn't know how to make it better—not that he would say it out loud, either.

He sighed and dragged himself to the makeshift swing that he had helped Pastor Jim fix for him out of an old, big tire the last time they were here and left Sammy to play on the ground near the back of the house with the puzzle pieces and the little, green army men they always carried around wherever they went.

Absently swinging back and forth, Dean stared at his brother, who was excitedly putting the puzzle pieces together according to the whole picture glued to the box cover, and wondered if this was how his life was forever going to be. He had heard Pastor Jim saying something to his dad about applying for kindergarten for Dean and that it was time for him to begin school, which—much to Dean's dismay—dad dismissed like it was some kind of an offer for dinner. Dean was maybe young, maybe not as talkative as kids his age—not since the fire anyway—but he always heard everything being said around him.

He always heard the fights between Mike and dad about how his father was losing his sanity and not paying enough attention to his children as he should have, especially now that he was the only parent left to raise them. The fights—Dean thought—that led dad to eventually load Sammy and him in the back of the car with their stuff and take off at the crack of dawn without even saying goodbye.

He always heard his father on the phone too. The first time he actually paid attention he heard him talk about the night mom died, about how Mary was plastered to the ceiling of Sammy's nursery room with her belly split open before the fire came out of nowhere and consumed everything—including his mother. It was the phone call that made Dean climb into Sammy's crib and curl his body around him, dizzy and scared of what he just heard and cried for the first time since the fire before he fell into fitful sleep, only to wake up in the middle of the night with a sharp cry—which he realized later had come from him—and cold sweat soaking his clothes and plastering his hair to his neck and forehead.

It was one of the rare nights dad held him and sang softly into his ear, after he failed to get a word out of his freaking out oldest son, until Dean was asleep again. The next morning his dad told him how his mother actually died, and how he was going to get to whoever did that to her and make them pay and that was why he needed him to be strong for Sammy. Dean had nightmares every night for about three months afterwards.

What if this was how it was going to be forever? Was there going to be anyone else besides dad and Sammy and Pastor Jim and Bobby? Would mom ever come back or would she have to wait until Dean went to her? And when would that be? Was he ever going to go to school and meet other kids like him? What about Sammy, wouldn't he need to go to school too someday? Or was it going to be just like this forever—him taking care of Sammy and dad being away more than around? What if something happened to dad? What if he decided to leave them and go to mom, too? What would he and Sammy do? Where would they stay? Who would watch out for Sammy if Dean died too then?

The jumbled mess of questions in his mind was abruptly interrupted by a loud bark and a barely stifled whimper. His head snapped up from where it was bowed slightly with his eyes glued to the dirt underneath his swinging legs and his heart sank to his knees.

A big dog covered with dark fur stood a few feet away from Sammy who was staring back at it in horror and tears pooling in his wide, hazelnut eyes. Dean climbed down off the swing and froze to the ground. Where did this dog come from and what was it doing there in front of Sammy?

The dog stood in his way to his brother and Dean wasn't sure how he was going to get to him and not get bitten in the process. However, the second the dog barked again, louder this time, at Sammy's face and made him start to cry in fear Dean was moving on instincts alone. He ran as fast as he could towards his bay brother, bypassing the dog in a flash, and snatched Sammy off the ground and held him tight in his arms and away from the dog's possible reach.

Before he realized what he was doing, Dean yelled at the dog to go away and not to touch his brother. It was a big mistake, though. Because what Dean knew next was that the dog was barking and advancing at them.

Dean was almost paralyzed with fear but the tight grip Sammy had around his neck made him break into a full-run towards the backdoor of the house. He barely made it with Sammy in his arms before the dog could jump at them. Dean shut the backdoor forcefully in the dog's face, making it stumble backward and fall onto its butt, and backed away until his back hit the nearest wall. Breathing heavily, Dean let his shaking body slide to the ground with Sammy still-safely nestled between his arms.

He wondered briefly where Pastor Jim was and how come he didn't hear all the noise in his own backyard and whether the dog would break into the door after it got back on its feet or not. He looked down at the top of Sammy's head, which was buried in the crook of his neck, and breathed in the smell of his silky hair.

''It's okay, Sammy. You're safe.'' He whispered in his brother's little ear. ''It's not going to get you, I'm not letting it.''

Sammy's little hands fisted Dean's t-shirt with all the strength he possibly had and—to Dean's utter surprise—he heard him whimper, ''D'n…''

''Sammy?'' He pulled his baby brother away from his chest so he could look at him. ''Did you just … talk?''

Sammy was looking at him with shiny eyes, tears staining his full cheeks. ''D'n.'' He said one more time and Dean forgot to close his mouth for a whole minute.

''Sammy! You talked! You said my name!'' Dean said cheerfully, a wide grin taking over his features. He stood up with Sammy still in his arms. ''You said my name!'' He hugged him tightly.

He saw Pastor Jim striding hurriedly towards them, a funny yellow apron fastened around his neck and waste, and Dean laughed brightly at the sight of him.

''What's going on? I heard barking and shouting.'' He was looking at Dean with a weird expression that Dean couldn't place—hopeful maybe?

''Sammy just talked! He said my name, Pastor Jim. He said Dean!'' Dean saw the smile spreading on the older man's face before he crouched down to his knees and was in their eye level.

''Oh, God bless the boy!'' Pastor Jim looked at Sammy with teary eyes. Unlike his dad, Pastor Jim was less tough and treated him and his baby brother softer than dad usually did. It always made something inside Dean ache but he always chose to ignore it and just savor the moment.

The dog was barking again and Dean was vaguely aware of the Pastor saying something like 'Dear, Lord! Where did that dog come from?' but he was busy looking at Sammy—who was still clinging to him for dear life—and fighting back his own tears.

''I love you, Sammy.''

…..

Dad called today. It had been four days so far and dad called to check on them and see if they were okay. And oh, let them know that he would be gone for a couple more days. They ate dinner in silence after that, but Dean wasn't that hungry anyway, so he busied himself with feeding his baby brother instead. When he was finished, he excused himself and carried Sammy off the chair and let him stand on the floor before he took his little hand in his and together they tottered towards to the room where he and Sammy slept.

After cleaning Sammy's mouth and teeth with a warm and clean washcloth like Aunt Kate had taught him and brushed his own teeth, Dean helped his brother climb into the bed they shared. Pastor Jim didn't have any babies' cribs in his house, so Dean had changed the bed's position the first night they got here. He pushed the bed the couple steps separating it from the wall and put a pillow against the wall to protect Sammy from the cold seeping through it and positioned himself on the other side of the bed, between Sammy and the room's door.

He wrapped his body around Sammy's and waited for sleep to come. It was another long day of protecting and taking care of his brother, which he swore he would do for the rest of his life and never falter—especially after the dog's incident.

''I promise you I will always take care of him, mom.'' He said softly to the empty room, save his brother's soft snores. He was never allowed to talk about mom in front of his dad; he would always get mad or stay sulking and drinking all night. But Dean still talked to his mom when there was no one listening—no one to get mad at him.

He missed her so much. Missed her kissing him goodnight and telling him how much she loved him every night. He missed his room and his own toys and dad—the old dad. But he knew he had to be brave and strong for Sammy. Maybe he didn't have his own room but he had Sammy, and Sammy kept saying Dean's name over and over since he finally started talking and it made him happier than he remembered he ever was through the previous two years.

It meant Sammy loved him. Like Dean would always love him—forever.

''Night, Sammy.'' He kissed his brother's head as his eyes began to drop. Vaguely, he felt someone pull the bed covers properly over him and Sammy and tuck them under his chin.

''Love you, mom.'' Dean whispered before sleep finally pulled him under.

-The End-

I hope that didn't suck so much, considering it's my first time to write this type of fictions and all.

Reviews are really appreciated. Thank you for reading!

Aya S.