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Description
The moment John and Mary brought home their second son from the hospital they should have known.
They dismissed Dean's babysitter, but only after she had cooed over Sam a little, then went to put the new baby in his crib. However, the babysitter had failed to mention that Dean had been stubborn enough not to go to sleep in his own room. In fact, he hadn't even gone to sleep in a real bed.
Dean had fallen asleep next to the crib in a bed of comforters and sheets that his babysitter had obviously made him. He was curled up in a ball, one hand tucked under his chin, one in front of his nose and mouth.
The two adults had had to pause for a second, just to blink and stare at their now eldest son, surprised. The thought that came after the "What…?" was something along the lines of "Aw how cute." But that's to be expected because this is a sleeping baby Dean we're talking about here. The only thing cuter is a sleeping baby Sam.
Mary was the first to smile, handing John Sam and walking over to her sleeping boy.
"Dean." she whispered, shaking him slightly. "Dean wake up."
Slowly, hazel forest eyes peeked open, his small hand rubbing at one of them in his half awake state. He yawned and looked up at his mother.
"Mommy…?"
Mary smiled.
"Hey sleepy head. Your new brother is home."
Dean was up from his makeshift bed in seconds flat, which amazed both of his parents. His mother put it down to the hunter genes, which made her slightly nervous and oddly proud at the same time.
He tugged at his father's shirt, making him look down.
"C'n I see him?"
John smiled and nodded.
"Alright, go sit on the couch and you can hold him."
Dean scurried to the nursery couch, sitting down and looking positively giddy. His father sat on his other side, instructing his son on how to hold his arms so he wouldn't drop the baby. Mary watched with eyes full of affection as her young son took his newborn brother into his arms, holding him tenderly.
The brunette boy stared down into the face of his sleeping brother, observing every detail that he could. He had the small bundle of chubby cuteness rested on his knees and on one arm, leaving one arm free. His free hand came up and brushed against the small boy's cheek.
"He's cute." Dean commented.
John grinned.
"Yeah, babies are like that De."
To both parent's surprises, Dean didn't turn around and stick out his tongue at his father like he usually would. Instead, he simply kept petting his brother's cheek.
"What's his name?" he asked inquisitively.
"Samuel." Mary answered.
Dean nodded.
"Samuel…Sam, Sammy. I like it."
He leaned down and kissed Sam's forehead.
"My Sammy."
They should have known then.
But it wasn't until six months later that John even started to notice the signs.
Six months later, John pressed the baby Sam into Dean's arms, telling to get outside, go now, GO. The fire was way too hot and he was well aware that should his youngest son stay in the house too long, the smoke would kill him.
He expected Dean to ask questions, to pause, but he was shocked by his son for what felt like the millionth time in the last five and a half months. The light brunette simply nodded and turned, racing down the stairs and out the door.
And when John was outside, standing beside his son, watching his home, his future, burn to the ground, he noticed something. He saw the way Dean was holding Sam, almost subconsciously it seemed, close, and possessive, as if he owned him.
Then, when Sam started crying, without any prompting from his father, Dean started cooing to his brother. Even though his voice was cracking with tears and shock, his rocked his younger sibling, telling him "It's gonna be okay" and "Don't worry, I gotcha Sammy."
That's when he started to notice.
But really, it wasn't until Dean was nineteen and Sam was fifteen that he noticed.
It was the summer of Sam's fifteenth birthday and they were on a hunt, obviously. No rest for the wicked, as Sam had mutter irritably, not two days earlier.
They were sneaking around the woods, Dean, much closer to Sam than John would have advised. But he knew by now not to even try to force the two brother's apart, because it would never work.
Anyway, they were creeping through underbrush, guns at the ready, loaded with silver to take out whatever evil they came across.
Sam, growing long and lanky, was the epitome of silence. He slunk, catlike, through bushes and tree trunks, as though he was born to be doing just this. John had been aware from the time Sam started hunting, that even though he bitched and moaned about it, he was GOOD. And not just good, but really fucking, catch-the-evil-shitbag-every-time good. His son may hate it but he was a born hunter, whether he liked it or not.
Dean wasn't as silent, or shadowy as his younger sibling, but what he lacked there he made up for in aim and tactics. He had the sharpest shoot that John had seen in a long time, and the fact that that was his eldest child made him proud.
John paused, and motioned for the boys to do so as well. Sam froze mid step, on complete alert, his brother pausing just as quickly. They listened, for what, well, only they could pick it out, but whatever it was, they apparently found it.
A quick nod and a few hand motions, and John had Dean staring at him like he was out of his mind.
"Dean." his father hissed. "NOW."
Dean shook his head.
"No sir! I'm not splitting off from Sammy!"
Sam remained silent, watching the exchange slightly fearfully.
"NOW DEAN."
Dean flinched slightly. Turning, he ruffled Sam's hair and muttered something John could catch to him, to which Sam nodded. They were off seconds later, slinking away in different directions, leaving their father to go his own route.
Satisfied, the elder hunter started making his way closer to the creature's den, trying to ignore the odd feeling he had gotten when Dean refused an order.
Ten minutes in, and he knew he was getting closer, that he and his sons would be converging very soon. The first person he saw was Dean, twenty yards away and looking decidedly nervous. He couldn't quite sight Sam yet, so he assumed the boy was about twenty or so yards from Dean.
But then, out of nowhere, from Dean's other side there was a scream. Both of their heads snapped in that direction, and John just managed to catch Dean's muttered "Sammy."
Then he was off faster than no bullet John had ever seen. Fast enough to have become simply a blur in the underbrush, leaving his father to follow after.
By the time he reached his sons, Dean was crouched over Sam like some kind of lion protecting their cub, hazel green eyes flashing dangerously at the creature coming at them. His gun lay five paces away, where he couldn't get to it, and John wasn't about to take the chance he would make it if he dived.
Raising his rifle, he shot at the creature, making it scream. It turned around and he shot it point blank in the face. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to kill the damn thing, but he wasn't totally interested in that now. He allowed the creature to lope off, knowing he'd catch it now that it was injured.
When he turned to see how Sam was doing, he was shocked to find Dean wrapping Sam's arm, which was pretty torn up, as though it had been in the things jaws, in bandages he must have had in his pockets.
"Know it hurt Sammy." he murmured. "Just hang on, kay? Gonna patch you up when we get back to the motel alright?"
Sam nodded, smiling slightly when his older brother leaned forward and kissed his forehead.
Dean got up, telling Sam to let the ointment set, before walking over to his father. John wondered what Dean wanted with him, when he caught the angry flashing in his son's eyes.
Dean stopped in front of him, arms crossed over his chest and eyes blazing.
"I respect you." he whispered, so Sam wouldn't hear. "And you know that. So hear me when I say this now."
He took a step forward.
"You EVER make me separate from Sam EVER again and I might just have to rip you limb from limb understand? Sam is MINE and I won't let anything hurt him unless I say so! And even then I want someone to check I'm not possessed."
With that, he turned around and went back to Sam, dropping down beside him and asking him if he felt okay enough to walk, petting his brother's hair.
John stared in shock at his sons as Dean picked up his brother, holding him gently in his arms, making sure he wasn't hurting him. He pressed a small kiss to Sam's cheek before starting to walk back to where they had parked the Impala.
It was then that John really realized what he should have fifteen years ago, on the night Sam was brought home.
Sam was Dean's.
He belonged to his brother.
And anyone, even himself, who got into the way of that, would find it to be a danger to their health.
Sam, was Dean's possession, end of story.
He picked up Dean and Sam's guns, carrying them along with his as he walked, almost trance like, back to the car. He was just in time to see Dean pulling back from a flushed looking Sam, whose eyes darted to him, before he slid into the back of the car.
Any other day, John would have put it down to the heat. But today he knew the truth of what he had missed.
Was it wrong?
On SO many levels it wasn't even funny.
Was it sinful?
No church would come within twenty miles of his sons, that was for sure.
Was it symbolic?
In an extremely twisted and messed up way? Yeah.
Was it the most pure kind of love John had ever seen?
Most certainly.

Description
The moment John and Mary brought home their second son from the hospital they should have known.
They dismissed Dean's babysitter, but only after she had cooed over Sam a little, then went to put the new baby in his crib. However, the babysitter had failed to mention that Dean had been stubborn enough not to go to sleep in his own room. In fact, he hadn't even gone to sleep in a real bed.
Dean had fallen asleep next to the crib in a bed of comforters and sheets that his babysitter had obviously made him. He was curled up in a ball, one hand tucked under his chin, one in front of his nose and mouth.
The two adults had had to pause for a second, just to blink and stare at their now eldest son, surprised. The thought that came after the "What…?" was something along the lines of "Aw how cute." But that's to be expected because this is a sleeping baby Dean we're talking about here. The only thing cuter is a sleeping baby Sam.
Mary was the first to smile, handing John Sam and walking over to her sleeping boy.
"Dean." she whispered, shaking him slightly. "Dean wake up."
Slowly, hazel forest eyes peeked open, his small hand rubbing at one of them in his half awake state. He yawned and looked up at his mother.
"Mommy…?"
Mary smiled.
"Hey sleepy head. Your new brother is home."
Dean was up from his makeshift bed in seconds flat, which amazed both of his parents. His mother put it down to the hunter genes, which made her slightly nervous and oddly proud at the same time.
He tugged at his father's shirt, making him look down.
"C'n I see him?"
John smiled and nodded.
"Alright, go sit on the couch and you can hold him."
Dean scurried to the nursery couch, sitting down and looking positively giddy. His father sat on his other side, instructing his son on how to hold his arms so he wouldn't drop the baby. Mary watched with eyes full of affection as her young son took his newborn brother into his arms, holding him tenderly.
The brunette boy stared down into the face of his sleeping brother, observing every detail that he could. He had the small bundle of chubby cuteness rested on his knees and on one arm, leaving one arm free. His free hand came up and brushed against the small boy's cheek.
"He's cute." Dean commented.
John grinned.
"Yeah, babies are like that De."
To both parent's surprises, Dean didn't turn around and stick out his tongue at his father like he usually would. Instead, he simply kept petting his brother's cheek.
"What's his name?" he asked inquisitively.
"Samuel." Mary answered.
Dean nodded.
"Samuel…Sam, Sammy. I like it."
He leaned down and kissed Sam's forehead.
"My Sammy."
They should have known then.
But it wasn't until six months later that John even started to notice the signs.
Six months later, John pressed the baby Sam into Dean's arms, telling to get outside, go now, GO. The fire was way too hot and he was well aware that should his youngest son stay in the house too long, the smoke would kill him.
He expected Dean to ask questions, to pause, but he was shocked by his son for what felt like the millionth time in the last five and a half months. The light brunette simply nodded and turned, racing down the stairs and out the door.
And when John was outside, standing beside his son, watching his home, his future, burn to the ground, he noticed something. He saw the way Dean was holding Sam, almost subconsciously it seemed, close, and possessive, as if he owned him.
Then, when Sam started crying, without any prompting from his father, Dean started cooing to his brother. Even though his voice was cracking with tears and shock, his rocked his younger sibling, telling him "It's gonna be okay" and "Don't worry, I gotcha Sammy."
That's when he started to notice.
But really, it wasn't until Dean was nineteen and Sam was fifteen that he noticed.
It was the summer of Sam's fifteenth birthday and they were on a hunt, obviously. No rest for the wicked, as Sam had mutter irritably, not two days earlier.
They were sneaking around the woods, Dean, much closer to Sam than John would have advised. But he knew by now not to even try to force the two brother's apart, because it would never work.
Anyway, they were creeping through underbrush, guns at the ready, loaded with silver to take out whatever evil they came across.
Sam, growing long and lanky, was the epitome of silence. He slunk, catlike, through bushes and tree trunks, as though he was born to be doing just this. John had been aware from the time Sam started hunting, that even though he bitched and moaned about it, he was GOOD. And not just good, but really fucking, catch-the-evil-shitbag-every-time good. His son may hate it but he was a born hunter, whether he liked it or not.
Dean wasn't as silent, or shadowy as his younger sibling, but what he lacked there he made up for in aim and tactics. He had the sharpest shoot that John had seen in a long time, and the fact that that was his eldest child made him proud.
John paused, and motioned for the boys to do so as well. Sam froze mid step, on complete alert, his brother pausing just as quickly. They listened, for what, well, only they could pick it out, but whatever it was, they apparently found it.
A quick nod and a few hand motions, and John had Dean staring at him like he was out of his mind.
"Dean." his father hissed. "NOW."
Dean shook his head.
"No sir! I'm not splitting off from Sammy!"
Sam remained silent, watching the exchange slightly fearfully.
"NOW DEAN."
Dean flinched slightly. Turning, he ruffled Sam's hair and muttered something John could catch to him, to which Sam nodded. They were off seconds later, slinking away in different directions, leaving their father to go his own route.
Satisfied, the elder hunter started making his way closer to the creature's den, trying to ignore the odd feeling he had gotten when Dean refused an order.
Ten minutes in, and he knew he was getting closer, that he and his sons would be converging very soon. The first person he saw was Dean, twenty yards away and looking decidedly nervous. He couldn't quite sight Sam yet, so he assumed the boy was about twenty or so yards from Dean.
But then, out of nowhere, from Dean's other side there was a scream. Both of their heads snapped in that direction, and John just managed to catch Dean's muttered "Sammy."
Then he was off faster than no bullet John had ever seen. Fast enough to have become simply a blur in the underbrush, leaving his father to follow after.
By the time he reached his sons, Dean was crouched over Sam like some kind of lion protecting their cub, hazel green eyes flashing dangerously at the creature coming at them. His gun lay five paces away, where he couldn't get to it, and John wasn't about to take the chance he would make it if he dived.
Raising his rifle, he shot at the creature, making it scream. It turned around and he shot it point blank in the face. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to kill the damn thing, but he wasn't totally interested in that now. He allowed the creature to lope off, knowing he'd catch it now that it was injured.
When he turned to see how Sam was doing, he was shocked to find Dean wrapping Sam's arm, which was pretty torn up, as though it had been in the things jaws, in bandages he must have had in his pockets.
"Know it hurt Sammy." he murmured. "Just hang on, kay? Gonna patch you up when we get back to the motel alright?"
Sam nodded, smiling slightly when his older brother leaned forward and kissed his forehead.
Dean got up, telling Sam to let the ointment set, before walking over to his father. John wondered what Dean wanted with him, when he caught the angry flashing in his son's eyes.
Dean stopped in front of him, arms crossed over his chest and eyes blazing.
"I respect you." he whispered, so Sam wouldn't hear. "And you know that. So hear me when I say this now."
He took a step forward.
"You EVER make me separate from Sam EVER again and I might just have to rip you limb from limb understand? Sam is MINE and I won't let anything hurt him unless I say so! And even then I want someone to check I'm not possessed."
With that, he turned around and went back to Sam, dropping down beside him and asking him if he felt okay enough to walk, petting his brother's hair.
John stared in shock at his sons as Dean picked up his brother, holding him gently in his arms, making sure he wasn't hurting him. He pressed a small kiss to Sam's cheek before starting to walk back to where they had parked the Impala.
It was then that John really realized what he should have fifteen years ago, on the night Sam was brought home.
Sam was Dean's.
He belonged to his brother.
And anyone, even himself, who got into the way of that, would find it to be a danger to their health.
Sam, was Dean's possession, end of story.
He picked up Dean and Sam's guns, carrying them along with his as he walked, almost trance like, back to the car. He was just in time to see Dean pulling back from a flushed looking Sam, whose eyes darted to him, before he slid into the back of the car.
Any other day, John would have put it down to the heat. But today he knew the truth of what he had missed.
Was it wrong?
On SO many levels it wasn't even funny.
Was it sinful?
No church would come within twenty miles of his sons, that was for sure.
Was it symbolic?
In an extremely twisted and messed up way? Yeah.
Was it the most pure kind of love John had ever seen?
Most certainly.