AN: I was reading "John Winchester's Journal" when I came across that entry I included at the end of this scene. That image just wouldn't leave me alone and I figured it would be best to just write it out of my mind. I hope you like it.

Summary: John almost misses another one of those moments.

Disclaimer: None of them belong to me. Seriously. Not mine. I swear.

Deee!

It happened on a Wednesday.

He almost missed it, if he had not sat down for a moment to tie his laces before he got out to get them something to eat he would not have seen it and then, as the saying with the tree in the forest went, it would probably not have happened at all.

It was a warm day, the middle of May, somewhere in a run-down motel named "The Pink Flamingo". They had stopped here to rest and get some sleep before they would once again be driving for the better part of the next day to get to the roadhouse. He had just learned the truth about vampires and that they were indeed real and a threat to be reckoned with and he was still reeling from the realisation that vampires might not be the only nightmare-monsters that could harm the boys. His boys.

Sammy had been restless all day, no matter how hard Dean tried to keep his spirits up by playing all those baby-games like peek-a-boo or "oh, take a look, what is this" the one-year-old wouldn't keep quiet, tiny hands reaching out for his brother's hands and, to Dean's absolute horror, the new walkman he had got as a birthday-present and which he wanted to keep drool-free at all costs.

"No, Sammy, that's mine, don't touch it!" He would repeat those words whenever the searching fingers came within inches of his prize and Sammy would just look up at him, give him that happy smile he always directed at him whenever he got Dean's attention and clap his hands or basically just drool on whatever he was holding that moment. Then Dean would roll his eyes, turn the music up a notch for emphasis and scoot a few feet away from him, head bobbing to the music John could hear blasting out of the small earphones.

Sammy, not at all happy with being left behind, would watch his big brother for a long moment, the small eyebrows drawn together in serious contemplation before his face would light up again and he would wriggle and squirm until he finally got on all fours so he could crawl after him, plopping down next to him to reach for his brother once again.

Normally Dean waited patiently until the rugrat found something to play with, would sometimes even be so kind to hand him a building brick or a noodle to munch on, but after half a day of being groped and drooled on even his patience was wearing thin and when Sammy once again reached for the cable that connected the earphones to the walkman Dean had had it and scrambled to his feet, hissing a tired, "Leave me alone!" at the toddler.

And when Dean walked to the other end of the room, away from his little brother who was watching him with huge, disbelieving eyes, it happened. Sammy watched his retreating form for a long moment and then started moving.

"Deee!"

John was used to his youngest squealing in protest when Dean left him behind to get himself something out of the kitchen and so he didn't really pay attention for a second and finished his shoes.

And when he looked up again Sammy was upright and moving, taking his first shaky steps into the middle of the room. He was swaying precariously and it almost seemed as if his upper body and his feet were moving in two different directions but his face was set into a determined frown and his hands were pointing at something in front of him.

"Deee!"

John was too fascinated to do anything but stare at the little guy, watching in awed silence how his son wobbled on unsteady legs and inched ever closer towards the door leading to the kitchen. Dean was completely oblivious to his brother's progress, he was too busy swinging his hips to the music as he made his way towards the kitchen, humming under his breath.

And then he was through the door and out of Sammy's sight and from one moment to the other Sammy fell flat on his face and started crying in protest. Dean was at his side in an instance, walkman forgotten, cooing softly at his disturbed sibling and then frowning when Sammy smiled up at him and gurgled happily, tiny hands once again reaching for his older brother.

John opened his mouth and turned around, then froze, barely refraining from calling out toward his wife – dead wife to tell her about the wonder he had just witnessed. Oh God how much he missed her, missed her at his side to watch the boys grow up, to be with him. He couldn't stop thinking about all the things she had already missed, about all the things she would never see and which would have made her so proud. It wasn't fair, it just wasn't fair.

It took him the better part of the next day to gather enough courage to write it down into his journal.

"May 17th, 1984,

This would have been our sixth anniversary. Six is iron. Sammy took his first steps yesterday. He walked toward Dean, then fell flat on his face and started crying. Life is tough, kid. Do I sound like a proud dad? I am."