Author's Note: Just something I wrote to help the insomnia. Enjoy! Review if you can! I'd love to see y'all's thoughts.

Baby Steps

The pale blue house on Granbury Street had a creaking staircase Tree branches clicked against the dusty windowpanes while the harsh October winds whistled through bare trees. Leaves scratched against the rotting boards of the front porch where a tired porch swung bumped loudly against the broken handrail. There was a small fire crackling in the hearth, a terrible substitute for a furnace that rattled and gave out moments after the young tenant had started it up. The cold of an on-coming winter froze the floorboards and made them pop loudly, even when no one crossed them.

The renter needed the house to be quiet when he did his research. He knew he asked a lot from his children, and he knew that silence from an eighteen month old and a five and a half year old was asking more than he ever should, but he had to. There were people outside of this pale blue monster with the moaning front porch that needed his help, and he couldn't help them if even the house wouldn't comply with the rules of silence.

There were two excited giggles from the left of John, and he sighed loudly, running a tired hand over his unshaven face. "Dean, would you knock it off?" he asked, turning to his five year old. "If you keep egging him on like that, he's just going to keep giggling."

Dean looked ashamed. "Sorry, Daddy," he muttered at the rug below his feet. Sam, on his hands and knees and ready to crawl, reached his imploring hand out and poked curiously at Dean's cheek. Dean blindly reached for his brother's hand and grasped it gently, quietly murmuring, "No, Sammy, Dad's working right now."

Sam, sensing that his older brother was done with having fun, fell backwards onto a diapered bottom and tilted his head in confusion. He leaned forward and reached out again, looking dejected when Dean swatted his tiny fist away. He made some gurgling noises, still unable to say much of anything other than a pathetic attempt at his brother's name and numerous exclamations for the word "dad." Dean shook his head and pulled at his loosened shoelace, obviously embarrassed that his father had to reprimand him.

John, though not entirely happy with the glumness on his children's faces, took the few moments of silence to look through the newspaper clippings again. It wasn't making sense to him. There had been three murders, all in the past four months. Two guys, one girl. All had been out with their friends, their spouses, their coworkers one night, and were found dead the next morning, all with a hole through the sides of their neck, with no trace of who— or what— had done it.

He had looked into all three victims, and other than having a nightlife on a the weekend, none of them had any similarities. One had been bald, one was a blonde, and one was a brunette. All were different ages, all were different ethnicities, and all did different things at night. One was married, one was single, and one was going on a blind date that their friend set them up on. So what exactly was this thing after? Once John found a motive for the creature, he could normally figure out who he was going after, but nothing in this case was fitting together quite right.

Sammy babbled loudly and let out a squeal of happiness. "Shh, Sammy," Dean whispered. "Daddy's working on something." Sam, though, didn't care one lick and squealed louder than before. He grabbed a handful of his brother's hair and pulled. "Ow!" the older boy exclaimed, pulling his head away. "Sammy, that hurts!"

John looked over at the boys. "Samuel," he said sternly. Even though the boy was young, he could tell by the tone of his father that he meant business. He stopped reaching for Dean's hair and looked over innocently, blinking bright hazel eyes at the man at the wobbling side table/makeshift desk on the other side of the living room. "That's right," John said a bit more gentle than before as his eyes locked on his baby's. "You know you aren't allowed to pull on people's hair."

Sam, with his gaze on John's, reached out blindly and yanked at his brother's hair.

"Ow!" Dean exclaimed, rubbing at his head.

And although John would normally never stand for that sort of disobedience, the rebellion from the child made him laugh out loud in spite of himself. "Samuel!" he exclaimed through his laughter. Where he had learned that disrespect, he had no idea. Dean normally obeyed the moment he was told to do something. The fact that his eighteen month old could look him right in the eyes and still grab onto his brother's hair was actually laughable to John. Sam giggled in delight at the sound of his full name, stuffing his fingers joyfully into his slobbery mouth.

"I think he's bored, Dad," Dean said, still rubbing at the sore spot on his head. "Are the blocks in Sammy's bag?"

John's heart sank. The blocks. He had been in such a rush to leave the last motel that he had forgotten that he tucked the blocks in the cabinet so the boys wouldn't be tempted to play with them while they were in time out.

"I'm sorry, kiddo," he said, turning to his five year old. "I think I left those at the motel a few days ago. D'you think you could find another way to distract him?"

"We could try walking again," Dean said, more to his brother than to his father. "Would you like that, Sammy? Want to learn how to walk?"

While that was normally a very noisy affair with Dean's encouragements and Sam's delighted giggles or mournful wails when he stumbled over, John just turned back to his research, thinking that he might be able to block it out if he put his mind to it. The boys had been remarkably good about moving to a new place and setting up in a new town. He knew he was going to lose his resolve right after he took one glance into his baby's bright eyes. He didn't know why he did this to himself.

The boy giggled in delight. Dean got himself to his feet and reached out his fingers for his little brother to grip. Sam reached up with spit-covered hands and grasped onto his brother for support while he was dragged onto his feet. Dean backed himself up and held his arms out, quietly persuading Sam into walking towards him. "Come on, Sammy!" he murmured happily. "Come on, buddy. Only like… three steps! You can do it!"

Sam gurgled, took a shaky step forward, and went right onto his bottom on the carpet. Dean sighed agitatedly and hoisted Sam to his feet again.

"Come on, Sammy! It's just walking!" he exclaimed, rolling his green eyes to the ceiling. "Just stick your foot out and set it down and then do it with the other one." He made it sound so easy, but to the eighteen month old, he was just excited to be playing some sort of game. This wasn't a life skill that he was learning. He was just being tugged out of boredom. He tried again. He took to steps and faltered, falling forward onto Dean's shins. "You're almost there, Sam. Just try it again."

He picked Sam up and plopped him the appropriate length away.

Terry Russell, age 52, was found dead in his garage… He babbled baby nonsense at his brother and squealed loudly when Dean tried bribing him forward with the promise of Cheerios. …hole in the side of his neck… He gripped his tiny fingers around Dean's larger ones and slowly went up to stand. …No fingerprints, no suspects...

"Ew, Sammy, you're getting slobber on my shirt now!" Dean exclaimed, shaking his hand out of his brother's grasp and trying to whip his fingers clear of Sammy Spit before it soaked his shirt sleeve again.

With the sudden tug and loss of support, Sammy toppled over sideways, smacking his head against the side of the coffee table. Dean turned his attention to the baby immediately and knelt down beside him while he started to blink the confusion from his eyes.

"Sammy, are you all right?" he asked, concerned, giving his brother a once over. John looked up just in time to see his curly-haired child through his head back and wail. His cheeks steadily pinkened while Dean tried to gather the crying infant into his arms. "I'm sorry, Sammy! I didn't know you were gonna fall over that easy, otherwise I would've held on tighter!" Sam bucked against his brother's arms, crying louder at the embrace. He looked over at his father and wailed even louder, reaching his arms out.

John sighed and cast a longing look at his research. None of it was making sense yet, and he had been at it for an hour. The bump was nothing to be concerned about, but Sam obviously needed some comforting. Comforting that normally Dean could provide. "What happened?" he asked his older son while folding up the newspaper.

"I don't know," Dean managed to get out while Sam strained against him, arching his back in protest and screeching ever the louder. "I pulled my finger away, and he fell over. Sammy, stop that!"

Sam finally broke free of his brother's arms just as John was on his feet. The man watched in awe as the little boy struggled to his feet and waddled unsteadily across the floor until he collided right into his father's shins, sobbing against his jeans and leaving a shiny mess of snot and tears across the toes of his boots. Dean's jaw dropped a bit, as did John's, when he reached down and scooped up the screaming child.

"Did you see that, Dad?" Dean asked in awe. "Did you see that?" Sammy had never taken so much as two steps without any guidance or help before.

"I did," John said quickly to Dean before turning to his hiccupping baby. "Shhh," he whispered into the child's ear, holding the boy close to his chest and bouncing him slightly. Sam spread his arms out and gripped the fabric of his father's tee shirt with an iron grasp of his tiny fists. "Shh, Sammy, it's okay," he said, bouncing one last hiccup out of the child. John rocked back and forth in his place for a moment, waiting patiently as Sam rubbed a snotty face across his shirt and then buried his head into the crook of his father's neck. Finally, the sobs completely subsided, and the boy pulled away, blinking at his father with wet eyes. A sudden realization flickered behind the waterworks, and a white-toothed grin spread across Sam's face.

"Dad, can you set him down and see if he'll walk to me?" Dean asked excitedly. He had been waiting for this day for a really long time. He always wanted his brother to be able to run around and kick the soccer ball with him and do a bunch of other fun games.

"You ready, champ?" John asked the brunette, setting him on the floor. Sam stood on unsteady feet, wobbling for a moment, before he started towards Dean. Dean was grinning ear-to-ear as his brother smiled back at him, looking in amazing down at his own Keds-clad feet.

"Come on, Sammy!" he exclaimed. "Come on!"

Sam giggled and looked over his shoulder. He stopped his course and made his way back to John, arms held open, stamping his little tennis shoes against the ground. John chuckled and lifted him back up, tossing him gently in the air and catching him on the way back down. Sam squealed with laughter.

"I think this calls for some celebration, don't you, kiddo?" John asked his eldest, reaching down and giving his hair a ruffle. "What do you say about some ice cream?"

"Yeah!" Dean exclaimed, pumping his fist in the air. "I'll go grab our coats!" he said excitedly, sprinting off towards the second floor.

John chuckled and kissed the side of Sammy's head, pushing all of his research into one pile for later. Maybe that wasn't making sense, but this, he thought while bouncing his giggling child on his hip, this does.