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Story Time

"Come on, Sammy. Dad says we can go to the library." Dean walked over to his brother who was sitting on the bed.

Sam's head came up from where it had been resting on his drawn up knees. "Really? We can go outside?" The question came out a bit nasally, but Dean was happy that Sam sounded a whole lot better than he had a few days before.

"To the library," Dean corrected. "But we're going to walk."

Sam smiled, his tongue poking through the small gap in his teeth. He had lost his first tooth about a week ago. "How many books can we get, Dean? Can we get lots? I want lots of books."

Dean grabbed Sam's sweater and helped him into it. They were in Texas and it was fall. No need for a jacket, but Sam was just getting over a cold and Dean wanted to make sure his brother kept warm. Dean would have to remember to give Sam some more cold medicine before they actually left. "We can get a few books, Sammy, but we're not bringing the whole library back, okay?"

Sam shook his head vigorously. "'Course not, Dean." He threw his arms out wide. "We don't got no room."

Dean took his five-year-old brother by the hand and tugged him along down the hall and into the small living room of their apartment. "We don't have any room."

Sam frowned at him, pulling his arm free. "Uh-huh. I said that."

Dean opened his mouth to explain, but decided it would be a wasted effort. He was nine years old and he didn't care much about grammar. But he cared about Sammy and he supposed that's why he did it. He was going to make sure that Sam was the best at everything. It's what a big brother did. "Yeah, okay," he said instead. "Stay here. I'm gonna get your medicine. Then we'll go."

Sam made a face. "Aw, man. More med'cine? Do I have to? I feel all better, Dean." His little brother's eyes widened a little as they stared up at him. "I really, really, really do."

Dean ruffled his hair and smiled. "I know you do, brat, but I wanna make sure you stay better."

"Sammy." Their father entered the room, carrying the bottle of cold medicine. He winked at Dean. "You're brother's right. You need to take your medicine."

"'kay." Sam looked at Dean who smiled encouragingly at him.

Dean watched as his father handed the small cup filled with purple liquid to Sam. "That wasn't so bad, was it, Sammy?"

"Taste like grape!" Sam said, smacking his lips together.

"Boys," John said. "I want you to be back by noon. No later."

"Yes, sir," Dean answered, taking his little brother's hand.

"Dean, I mean it." The look on their father's face was stern. "Don't make me come looking for you."

Dean swallowed, remembering the last time they hadn't gotten home on time. He'd never make that mistake again no matter how much Sam begged for ice cream. "Yes, sir."

John eyed him a moment longer, nodding. "Good. You boys have fun."

"We will," Sam answered, pulling Dean towards the door.

Dean waved at his father before following his little brother out into the sunshine.

It was a short walk to the public library. Dean was sure to keep a careful eye on Sammy as he skipped ahead of him. The trees along the sidewalk provided shade from the bright sun, but Dean could still feel its warmth on his skin. He was sure they were going to be moving on soon and he knew he was going to miss Texas.

When they entered the library, he discovered quite a few kids were already there. Dean hadn't realized how popular the library was on Saturday mornings.

Sam was tugging on his hand, practically pulling his fingers apart as he squirmed beside him.

"What is it, Sammy? You have to go to the bathroom?" He knew he should have made his brother go before they left the apartment.

"Uh-uh." Sam brought his chin up. "I'm not a baby, Dean."

"Well then you must have ants in your pants."

Sam giggled. "Nope." He pointed to a section of the room where an empty rocking chair sat. "Look. It's story time."

Dean groaned. "Aw, come on, Sammy. Let's just get some books and go ho--back to the apartment. I'll let you read to me." Dean couldn't bring himself to ever call it a home.

"Dean? Please?" Sam looked up at him, his lower lip quivering. Dean absolutely hated when Sam did that. "Please? I wanna hear the story. I like stories. Please, please, Dean?" The lower lip trembled some more and Dean knew he was in trouble.

"Fine," he grumbled. "We'll listen to the dumb story."

Sam poked him in the side. "It's not a dumb story."

"How do you know it's not? You haven't even heard it," Dean retorted as they made their way to the story steps and squeezed in along the bottom row. The reading area was already filled with children, parents hovering around the area.

"You haven't heard it either so how do you know it is?" Sam crossed his legs Indian-style and leaned his elbows on his knees.

His brother was getting entirely too good at arguing. Dean sighed. Nothing new. It was as if as soon as he learned to talk, Sam wanted to know everything. And even though he was only nine, Dean knew that was never going to change. "Sammy," he started.

"Shh, be quiet." A red-haired boy about Dean's age said to him.

"You be quiet," Dean said back to him.

"You."

"You!"

"She's reading, Dean," Sam said to him in a low voice.

Dean glared at the boy next to him before turning to face the rocking chair. Only now it wasn't empty. The librarian, wearing a blue-jean dress with big red ABCs on the pockets was sitting there, a book in her hands. The clear tone of her voice as she read over the words was melodic, weaving a spell over the audience.

For several minutes no one moved, no one spoke. Even Dean, who thought story time was for babies, was rooted to the spot. It was like a movie playing in his head--the teenage ghost in her pretty white dress talking to the living girl huddled on the bed. He wondered if the story was true and if he should tell his dad about it. Dean was sure their father could protect the young girl. Dad was always killing the scary things. He was good at it.

Sammy jumped and Dean glanced over at him. His little brother's eyes were as wide as saucers, but his attention was still on the reader. Dean felt him shift a little closer.

When the story ended, several hands went up and voices began to babble at once.

"I like that story."

"Can you read some more?"

"Are ghosts real?"

"They're not real."

"Yes, they are!"

Dean was horrified to realize that the last utterance had come from his brother. He turned to Sam and opened his mouth, but Sam was talking again.

"They're real and they're bad. You have to kill them or else, or else they'll come back to get you."

"Sammy!" Dean whispered at him, leaning closer to him.

Sam looked at him. "It's true, Dean. Don't you 'member the one that pushed you down the stairs last year?"

"Man, you can't--" Dean started, but was interrupted by the red-haired boy he'd argued with before.

"There's no such thing as ghosts."

"Is, too." Sammy told the boy.

"Is not."

"Is, too." Sam leaned forward. "I bet you're afraid of ghosts. Well, my big brother ain't afraid of no ghosts. He killed that ghost who knocked him down. Bet you can't do that, scaredy cat."

"You're dumb! How can you kill a ghost? It's already dead." The red-hair boy was glaring at Sam.

Dean snarled at the boy. "My brother is not dumb."

"Yeah, he is."

"No, he's not. Take it back." Dean pushed the boy's shoulder.

"You can too kill a ghost," Sam yelled. "All you need is salt."

"Boys, boys!" The librarian was on her feet, and she was wearing an expression that Dean had seen on his father's face many times.

Dean immediately settled back into his seat. "I'm sorry, ma'am." He bowed his head, not quite meeting her eyes. "Didn't mean to cause any trouble."

"This is a library," she said, but Dean noticed she was not only talking to him, but to Sam and the other boy as well. "We use our library voices and we certainly don't fight."

"Do we--do we haveta go now?" Sam was now giving the librarian the same trembling lip he'd given Dean earlier, but now his eyes watered as well. Dean wondered if his brother was going to be an actor when he grew up.

The librarian smiled. "No, I'm not going to ask you to leave. I think I can trust you to behave. Right?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I can be good. I promise."

The librarian looked at Dean and the other boy, raising an eyebrow.

"Sorry," the boy mumbled, the tips of his ears turning red.

"Sorry, ma'am," Dean said. "We know better. It won't happen again."

"Thank you." The librarian stepped back and addressed the crowd on the steps. "I'm so glad you could all make it to story time. I'll be reading a fairy tale next week so please come again. Have a good day."

Dean stood, pulling Sam up with him. They were about to leave the reading circle with the other kids when the librarian walked up to them.

"Your brother has a pretty active imagination," she observed.

Dean swallowed. "Um, yeah. He, uh, makes up stories all the time. He doesn't mean anything by it."

"But, Dean," Sam yanked on his arm. "I didn't--"

"Sammy, not now," Dean ordered.

She knelt in front of Sam. "You're name is Sammy?"

"Uh-huh." Sam looked from Dean to the woman. "And, and there really is ghosts. They're mean. One hurt Dean real bad. It did, I swear."

"Sammy, shut up!" If it got back to their father that Sam was babbling about ghosts, there would be heck to pay and Dean knew he'd be doing the paying.

The librarian gave him a stern look before smiling at Sam. "Sammy, honey, the story I read today was fiction. Do you know what that means?"

"Not real." Sam was quick to answer. "Dean teached me that."

"Taught," Dean mumbled.

"You have a really smart brother," the librarian said.

"Yeah, he knows lots of stuff. Don't you, Dean?"

Dean couldn't help but smile. "Just like you, kiddo."

"Now, Sammy," the librarian spoke. "The story I read today wasn't about a real ghost. It was fiction. Okay?"

Sam looked uncertainly from Dean to the librarian. Then he nodded. "Okay."

She ruffled his hair. "Now you boys go and check out some books. I'll see you next week for story time."

Dean watched her walk away. When she was out of earshot, he sat back down on the steps. He waited for his little brother to sit next to him before speaking. "Sammy, you have to watch what you say to other people."

"But, Dean, ghosts are real. And--and people should know about 'em just in case..."

"Just in case what, Sammy?" Dean said softly.

Sam sniffed. "Just in case they come to hurt yo--them."

Dean looped an arm around Sam's shoulder, pulling his little brother against him. "We know about ghosts, Sammy, and we look after each other. But other people don't think ghosts are real so they don't want to hear about it."

"They're scared?" Sam looked up at him.

"They're scared," Dean confirmed. "And because they're scared, we have to be careful not to say anything. Do you understand?"

Sam nodded. He was quiet for a moment. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm--I'm scared and I know about ghosts." Sam snuggled a little closer to him.

Dean's arm tightened on his brother's shoulders, wishing his little brother didn't know about the scary things in the night. "I know, and it's okay to be scared. But you don't have to worry, Sammy. Know why?"

"Uh-uh."

"Cuz you got me and I won't let the ghosts get you," Dean said.

"But-but what if they get you?" Sam began gnawing on his thumb.

Dean gently pulled Sam's hand away from his mouth. He'd broken Sam of that habit last year and he wasn't going to let his brother start it up again. "Not gonna happen. I'm you're big brother and I'm always gonna take care of you. I promise."

"Promise?"

Dean stuck out his hand and waited for Sam to clasp it with his own. "Promise."

They shook on it.

The End.