Fic: SPN: Brighter in the Morning
Title: Brighter in the Morning
Author: erisinia
Characters: Dean, Sam, OC
Genre/pairing: Wee!chesters, Gen
Rating: PG
Word-count: 3400
Spoilers: pre-series
Warnings: it is very vanilla. Silent!Dean, a little sickness, a little blood. You may want to avoid if you have the diabeetus.
Summary: Dean didn't know how to relax, spending every day walking softly and looking after his brother with a single-minded care that made her long for boyish misbehavior.
Notes: beta'd by v_winchester . Written for the Between the Lines challenge, according to this post by doylescordy .
Disclaimer: Goodness gracious, I don't own a thing of value. Certainly not a hit tv show.
Pronunciation Note: Zywno is pronounced ZHEV-no. Those wacky poles.
"There are policemen at the witch's house," Parker announced at lunch. His mother rolled her eyes and slid a grilled-cheese sandwich onto his plate.
"Ms. Zywno isn't a witch, honey. I wish you wouldn't say that."
"Yeah, dummy," Alicia said smugly. "Witches are ugly, and they have black cats. Ms. Z is weird, but she has a dog and she's really pretty."
Parker scowled at her. "Is too. She has really long silver hair, and she doesn't talk to people, and she has all those weird things on her windows and her fence. Caleb says they're a'cult symbols. I bet she talks to demons."
His mother stopped and planted her hands on her hips. "Parker James Majors, what have I told you about talking to that Caleb boy?"
In the resultant flurry of scoldings and excuses, the matter of policemen at Ms. Z's door was entirely forgotten.
The lady herself, upon opening her door to find two young officers on her doorstep, stood on the jamb but not outside it and raised her eyebrows at them. "Can I help you boys?"
The younger of the two cleared his throat and twisted nervously at the hat in his hands. (Alicia was right about Ms. Zywno being very pretty, no less for being in her 50s.) His older partner extended a hand for her to shake, polite and professional. "Ma'am, we're here to ask you to come with us to social services. You know a John Winchester?"
Her eyes widened, then she nodded and ducked back into the house. A moment later she re-emerged, stuffing keys into her pocket and shoving her feet into a disreputable pair of boots. "Let's go. If John needs help with something, you can explain on the way."
"It's not about Mr. Winchester himself," the older officer said delicately as they proceeded down the front walk. "It's about his children."
...
Lucy Zywno did the nightly walk-through of the house, Maximus trailing behind her making small conversational dog-noises. She checked all the salt-lines, spoke ritual words at each of the cardinal points, blew softly across the ward-line in the main threshold to make sure it was still active. A well-warded home feels comfortably snug and full, and as the final protections were refreshed Max sighed, as he always did. Lucy grinned down at him and ruffled his ears. "Let's go check if the boys are out yet, huh? Although we'd know if Sam was awake, at least."
The five-year-old, Dean, hadn't spoken a word since he and his little brother had come to live with them a month ago. He was just a child, but it was obvious that he had experienced more sorrow in his few short years on this earth than most people experienced in their entire lives. It broke her heart.
She stood in the bedroom doorway as she gazed down on the brothers asleep on the bed, Dean curled protectively around his baby brother. This was how it had been every night since they'd come to live here--she'd given up on trying to give Dean and Sam separate bedrooms after that first night. It just wasn't happening. If this is what they needed, she wasn't going to force the issue.
Sammy snuffled a little as she carefully tugged the blanket up under his chin. His sweet little face was angelic in sleep, cheeks pinked from the cold he was just getting over. It was Dean's turn for the illness now, and when she pressed her cheek to his she could feel the fever developing, his skin pale enough that the freckles stood out starkly. He'd been in higher spirits that day, relieved to see Sammy getting better, but in sleep his brow was furrowed fretfully. Lucy brushed her thumb over that groove, hating the way it pinched his small face. Dean didn't know how to relax, spending every day walking softly and looking after his brother with a single-minded care that made her long for boyish misbehavior.
"Things will be brighter in the morning, precious," she said softly. With one last look over the two of them, she straightened up and pulled her hair back into place. She left the door open a crack, turning on the lamp only just installed on a small table so that its gleam could be seen through the gap. She sighed, and looked down at the big mutt who gazed back with patient doggy eyes. "I have no idea what I'm doing, Max," she confessed. He licked her fingertips, and settled down in front of the boys' door.
Time was, getting up early was a choice; now it was a necessity, and Lucy smiled to herself as she heard Sammy's arrival, heralded by a bright stream of toddler babble. It was clear when he entered the kitchen, since his speech condensed to one word: "Mass!" Max whuffed happily, not bothered by the childish misappropriation of his name. Other than 'Dean' and 'No', it was Sam's favorite word. She leaned over the kitchen island and grinned at the little boy fondly.
"Hello, Sammy! How are you doing, baby?"
Sammy grinned at her. "Loo! Hi, Loo. Hi."
"Hi, Sammy. Good morning."
"Mmmornin'."
"Good job." She swept him up in her arms and planted a kiss on one fat cheek. "Shall we go get your brother? I bet he's feeling a little under the weather today."
He must have picked up on 'brother', because he nodded. "Dean."
"Exactly."
If she hadn't already known the poor kid was ill by the way Sam had beaten him out of the room, it would have been clear when she turned on the bedroom light. The little guy was sweaty and pale, with bright spots of red high on his cheeks. He blinked glassy green eyes at them as his little brother insisted on being let down and stumbled over to the bed. Sammy patted his cheek. "Dean. Hi, Dean. Up."
Dean let him pat, then his eyes widened and he clapped a hand over his mouth and coughed. He looked up at their guardian with pleading eyes, and she smoothed a hand through his hair and picked up Sam. "Don't worry too much, Dean. The doctor said he shouldn't catch it again once he'd gotten over it." With the toddler perched on her hip, she pushed back the quilt and patted the side of the bed. "Come on, precious, let's get you boys a cool bath. Maybe that will help you feel better, huh?" He gave her a look and she wished, like she did multiple times a day, that he would talk. If ever there was a little boy who had opinions he wanted to share.... But as always, she didn't press.
The bath helped a little, as did breakfast, but Dean steadily worsened during the course of the day. By afternoon he was bad enough off that he even consented to have Sammy leave his sight; she left the older boy seated on the sofa with a glass of orange juice and Schoolhouse Rock. Max, with an admonishing whuff for making him choose, sat close to Dean's feet and took a nap, while Sammy followed her around the back garden commenting on everything and getting gloriously mucky.
The beads on one of the charms hung on the fence clinked faintly in the breeze, and Lucy straightened and wiped sweat out of her eyes. The only sound drifting from the open patio door was the chorus of 'Conjunction Junction', and she sighed. "Well, Sammy, what do you think it's going to take for your big brother to start talking? I know your papa says he's been like this for a year, but for all his virtues that man isn't much of a conversationalist. I don't know what kind of discussions you boys have amongst yourselves, but there are novel-length thoughts going through that child's head, and it might do him some good to let them out." Sammy didn't reply, chuntering away softly to himself as he rearranged a pile of planting markers. She laughed. "Does me good. People think m'crazy, but it does me good." She gathered up her tools and went to extract the toddler from his mud.
She carried Sam to bed when he finally dropped off around nine, and came back to a look of betrayal from Dean. She shushed him gently as the rearranged their nest of blankets on the couch. "None of that, Dean. He'll sleep better in his bed, and I want you here with me so that I can look after you." He was too wiped out to turn his back to her, but he very deliberately closed his eyes. She smiled to herself, pleased by his assertion of independence. Strangers got misled by his silence into thinking that he was meek, but even one month's acquaintance was enough to tell her what a strong personality he had. "Dislike me if you wish," she said easily, "But you do need to take your medicine now."
His fever worsened around midnight, enough that Lucy started to consider doctors and hospitals; it never got above 103, but that was enough to leave him acutely miserable. In desperate need of sleep but too uncomfortable for it, he began making small weary noises of misery that tore at her heart. His little face was flushed, eyes glassy, and on every exhale there came a small, almost inaudible whimper. By 12:30 she was at her wit's end with the sound, nearly in tears herself.
When it came time for his next dose of medicine he accepted it without a fight. Moments later, however, he went white as paper and she barely leaned him over the trash can in time. She rubbed his back softly as he heaved, and when he was through he rested his head on the couch cushions. "Mama," he sobbed. It was the first word she'd ever heard him speak.
"Oh, Dean," she whispered, and pulled him up, tucking his head under her throat and resting her chin on the damp curls. "Oh, precious. I am so sorry about your mama, baby, and I know that sometimes it seems like nothing will ever be okay again, but it does get better. I promise you, sweetheart, it gets better." His sobs were fading as he started to listen. Dean was such a good listener. "Sammy and your Daddy love you so much, Dean, and so do Max and me. Things aren't going to be perfect, but I promise you that they will be brighter in the morning. I swear, precious. They will."
He released a huge, shuddering sigh and finally went limp in her arms.
The fever finally broke around one, and they didn't wake up until Sammy came demanding morning kisses at seven. When she started to get up, she was stopped by Dean's fist gripping the end of her hair. She looked down at him to find enormous green eyes looking up at her shyly. "Is that your way of saying thank you, then?" She said lightly. He looked away, teeth worrying at his lower lip, and she instantly repented of her teasing and bent down to kiss him on the forehead. "I didn't mean it like that, honey. You talk or don't talk as you see fit." She straightened and smiled at him, one hand carding gently through his hair. "Looks brighter today, huh?" His smile was small, and beautiful.
Three months after the boys came to live with her, they were able to go and visit their dad. Fortunately, he was considered a low enough risk that they were able to visit him in one of the small rooms rather than needing to talk through a phone--Sammy chattered and bounced and questioned for the whole hour, while Dean stayed glued tight to his father's side, looking up at him with silently worshipful eyes. When their time was up there came a discreet knock at the door. Sammy was disinclined to leave until Dean took his hand, after which he looked up at his big brother with wet eyes. "Daddy?" He said tearfully, and Dean patted him carefully on the head. Sammy sniffed and consented to be held in place.
"Now, Dean," John said firmly, "I need you to look after your brother. Okay?" Dean straightened to attention, lifting his small chin, and nodded firmly. "Good boy."
"Boys, you go sit on the bench near the nice lady right outside the door, okay?" Lucy said evenly. "Your Daddy and I need to talk about some grown-up things." They went, Dean carefully guiding his brother along and Sammy with lots of sad backwards glances. When the door closed behind them John opened his mouth to speak, but Lucy beat him to it. "John Winchester," she said darkly, "Dean is the most responsible little boy I know. If ever there was a boy who didn't need to be reminded to look after his little brother, it's that one, and every time you do so you just put another weight on those small shoulders."
He stiffened and glared at her. "Dean does not need to be coddled."
"Fine! Don't coddle him. Just treat him like a little boy." He continued to look at her mulishly, and she rolled her eyes and sat down. "John, I am fifty-three years old, and I have been working with hunters for thirty of those years. Plenty of them--I'd even say most of them--manage to do the job without getting on any watch lists." She stopped herself and pinched the bridge of her nose. "What I mean is, you're reckless, Winchester," she continued more gently. "You concentrate on one goal over everything in the present. Not saying it's not a worthy goal, or that you shouldn't pursue it; but you forget that you've got people who need you to spend some of that obsessive devotion on them right now. Dean's your son, John. Not your lieutenant."
He looked away and down like Dean did when he didn't want to admit she'd made a point, and she leaned forward and laid her delicate hand over his big callused one. "They're good boys. And they love you. You'll all do fine as long as you remember that." Her mouth quirked up at the corner, and she patted his hand. "I guessed you noticed that Sammy is talking more."
He accepted her peace offering and met her eyes. "Yeah, I guess I did kinda notice." When he smiled, he showed where the boys got their dimples.
Sammy turned two almost five months after they came to live with her. They had a small party, just them, and since Lucy was useless at baking cakes he got two candles stuck in the top of a pile of cookies. Max shamelessly begged for treats from everyone, and Sam nearly vibrated with excitement upon being presented with a small heap of gifts.
Dean gave him one of his matchbox cars, and smiled the whole time.
When Lucy slipped on a piece of wrapping paper and fell spectacularly on her butt Dean even laughed, loud unfettered little-boy laughter, and Lucy grinned up at them both from her position on the floor and privately considered that the best gift of the evening.
Nine months since John was arrested found the boys with their guardian at the small local park. Sammy was everywhere, exercising his new-found passion for running and making use of every piece of equipment available. Dean sat beside Lucy on the swings, keeping a careful eye on his brother. She leaned back in her swing and gently nudged him with her elbow. "You know, looking after you two is my job. I would keep an eye on your brother if you wanted to go do something else." He shook his head, and gave her his most deliberately charming smile. She rolled her eyes but smiled back. "You could go and play soccer with those boys over there...." He made a disgusted face. "Yeah, well, don't tell anyone I said so, but that Caleb boy is definitely a pill." He snickered.
Sammy was tired enough on the way home to be almost as quiet as his older brother. He walked between Dean and Lucy, content to hold their hands as he carefully avoided all the cracks on the sidewalk. They were nearly home when an ominous snarling sound had Max pressing close to Dean's side and snarling. "Boys, don't--" before she could finish her thought, a massive grey dog came out of the bushes at them.
Dean pushed his little brother behind himself, and Lucy stepped in front of them all to meet the dog's charge head-on. It took her to the ground and buried its teeth in her forearm, but it was thin and starved, and Lucy Zywno had fought more vicious things in her life. It took two fumbling passes, with the thing's jaws clamped tight, for her to reach the knife in her boot. Once she got it free, it was all over--silver works as well for stray dogs as it does black dogs, and she shoved the body off her legs and staggered to her feet.
The neighbors were starting to appear, drawn by the sound, but she took a moment to inspect the boys. They were both shaken but unhurt, and she sighed in relief. "I think I'll sit down now," she told them, and did so.
Mrs. Morrow tired valiantly to get Lucy to let them call an ambulance, but she would have nothing of it. They finally gave her a little space when she demonstrated her well-stocked med kit, and consented to let her wait for a friend who could both take her to the ER and look after the boys. She couldn't have moved after that if she wanted to; Max sat on her feet, Sammy in her lap, and Dean was pressed against her side like he wanted to fuse into it.
"I'll have to get rabies shots," she said absently, as she stroked Sammy's hair with her uninjured arm. "I hate rabies shots."
Sammy grabbed her hand and patted it. "It's okay, Mis Loo. It'll be brighter tomorrow."
She looked down at his sweet worried face. "Say what now?"
"'It's brighter tomorrow'," he said, with the air of one quoting a great sage, "Dean always says."
"Uh-HUH." She grinned down at Dean. "He does, does he?" He buried his face in her side, winding a strand of her hair around his fist. Sammy nodded, and wrapped his arms around her.
There was a moment of silence, then Dean...said something, very softly, too much to make out, but definitely speaking. Lucy restrained herself from a reaction, rearranging Sammy in her lap until her composure was regained. "What was that, Dean?" she asked.
"...Thank you, Mis Lucy," he finally said. "For...looking after us. Thank you."
Unable to resist any further, she pulled him into her lap too. "You're welcome, Dean. I was glad to do it. Looking after you and Sammy is my job."
He rested his chin on her shoulder. "What's my job, then?"
She nudged his head with her nose, until he looked up and met her eyes. "Your job is to be our Dean."
He looked up at her with those enormous green eyes, and for the first time in nine months--the first time since he was four--he relaxed. "Okay."
Author: erisinia
Characters: Dean, Sam, OC
Genre/pairing: Wee!chesters, Gen
Rating: PG
Word-count: 3400
Spoilers: pre-series
Warnings: it is very vanilla. Silent!Dean, a little sickness, a little blood. You may want to avoid if you have the diabeetus.
Summary: Dean didn't know how to relax, spending every day walking softly and looking after his brother with a single-minded care that made her long for boyish misbehavior.
Notes: beta'd by v_winchester . Written for the Between the Lines challenge, according to this post by doylescordy .
Disclaimer: Goodness gracious, I don't own a thing of value. Certainly not a hit tv show.
Pronunciation Note: Zywno is pronounced ZHEV-no. Those wacky poles.
"There are policemen at the witch's house," Parker announced at lunch. His mother rolled her eyes and slid a grilled-cheese sandwich onto his plate.
"Ms. Zywno isn't a witch, honey. I wish you wouldn't say that."
"Yeah, dummy," Alicia said smugly. "Witches are ugly, and they have black cats. Ms. Z is weird, but she has a dog and she's really pretty."
Parker scowled at her. "Is too. She has really long silver hair, and she doesn't talk to people, and she has all those weird things on her windows and her fence. Caleb says they're a'cult symbols. I bet she talks to demons."
His mother stopped and planted her hands on her hips. "Parker James Majors, what have I told you about talking to that Caleb boy?"
In the resultant flurry of scoldings and excuses, the matter of policemen at Ms. Z's door was entirely forgotten.
The lady herself, upon opening her door to find two young officers on her doorstep, stood on the jamb but not outside it and raised her eyebrows at them. "Can I help you boys?"
The younger of the two cleared his throat and twisted nervously at the hat in his hands. (Alicia was right about Ms. Zywno being very pretty, no less for being in her 50s.) His older partner extended a hand for her to shake, polite and professional. "Ma'am, we're here to ask you to come with us to social services. You know a John Winchester?"
Her eyes widened, then she nodded and ducked back into the house. A moment later she re-emerged, stuffing keys into her pocket and shoving her feet into a disreputable pair of boots. "Let's go. If John needs help with something, you can explain on the way."
"It's not about Mr. Winchester himself," the older officer said delicately as they proceeded down the front walk. "It's about his children."
...
Lucy Zywno did the nightly walk-through of the house, Maximus trailing behind her making small conversational dog-noises. She checked all the salt-lines, spoke ritual words at each of the cardinal points, blew softly across the ward-line in the main threshold to make sure it was still active. A well-warded home feels comfortably snug and full, and as the final protections were refreshed Max sighed, as he always did. Lucy grinned down at him and ruffled his ears. "Let's go check if the boys are out yet, huh? Although we'd know if Sam was awake, at least."
The five-year-old, Dean, hadn't spoken a word since he and his little brother had come to live with them a month ago. He was just a child, but it was obvious that he had experienced more sorrow in his few short years on this earth than most people experienced in their entire lives. It broke her heart.
She stood in the bedroom doorway as she gazed down on the brothers asleep on the bed, Dean curled protectively around his baby brother. This was how it had been every night since they'd come to live here--she'd given up on trying to give Dean and Sam separate bedrooms after that first night. It just wasn't happening. If this is what they needed, she wasn't going to force the issue.
Sammy snuffled a little as she carefully tugged the blanket up under his chin. His sweet little face was angelic in sleep, cheeks pinked from the cold he was just getting over. It was Dean's turn for the illness now, and when she pressed her cheek to his she could feel the fever developing, his skin pale enough that the freckles stood out starkly. He'd been in higher spirits that day, relieved to see Sammy getting better, but in sleep his brow was furrowed fretfully. Lucy brushed her thumb over that groove, hating the way it pinched his small face. Dean didn't know how to relax, spending every day walking softly and looking after his brother with a single-minded care that made her long for boyish misbehavior.
"Things will be brighter in the morning, precious," she said softly. With one last look over the two of them, she straightened up and pulled her hair back into place. She left the door open a crack, turning on the lamp only just installed on a small table so that its gleam could be seen through the gap. She sighed, and looked down at the big mutt who gazed back with patient doggy eyes. "I have no idea what I'm doing, Max," she confessed. He licked her fingertips, and settled down in front of the boys' door.
Time was, getting up early was a choice; now it was a necessity, and Lucy smiled to herself as she heard Sammy's arrival, heralded by a bright stream of toddler babble. It was clear when he entered the kitchen, since his speech condensed to one word: "Mass!" Max whuffed happily, not bothered by the childish misappropriation of his name. Other than 'Dean' and 'No', it was Sam's favorite word. She leaned over the kitchen island and grinned at the little boy fondly.
"Hello, Sammy! How are you doing, baby?"
Sammy grinned at her. "Loo! Hi, Loo. Hi."
"Hi, Sammy. Good morning."
"Mmmornin'."
"Good job." She swept him up in her arms and planted a kiss on one fat cheek. "Shall we go get your brother? I bet he's feeling a little under the weather today."
He must have picked up on 'brother', because he nodded. "Dean."
"Exactly."
If she hadn't already known the poor kid was ill by the way Sam had beaten him out of the room, it would have been clear when she turned on the bedroom light. The little guy was sweaty and pale, with bright spots of red high on his cheeks. He blinked glassy green eyes at them as his little brother insisted on being let down and stumbled over to the bed. Sammy patted his cheek. "Dean. Hi, Dean. Up."
Dean let him pat, then his eyes widened and he clapped a hand over his mouth and coughed. He looked up at their guardian with pleading eyes, and she smoothed a hand through his hair and picked up Sam. "Don't worry too much, Dean. The doctor said he shouldn't catch it again once he'd gotten over it." With the toddler perched on her hip, she pushed back the quilt and patted the side of the bed. "Come on, precious, let's get you boys a cool bath. Maybe that will help you feel better, huh?" He gave her a look and she wished, like she did multiple times a day, that he would talk. If ever there was a little boy who had opinions he wanted to share.... But as always, she didn't press.
The bath helped a little, as did breakfast, but Dean steadily worsened during the course of the day. By afternoon he was bad enough off that he even consented to have Sammy leave his sight; she left the older boy seated on the sofa with a glass of orange juice and Schoolhouse Rock. Max, with an admonishing whuff for making him choose, sat close to Dean's feet and took a nap, while Sammy followed her around the back garden commenting on everything and getting gloriously mucky.
The beads on one of the charms hung on the fence clinked faintly in the breeze, and Lucy straightened and wiped sweat out of her eyes. The only sound drifting from the open patio door was the chorus of 'Conjunction Junction', and she sighed. "Well, Sammy, what do you think it's going to take for your big brother to start talking? I know your papa says he's been like this for a year, but for all his virtues that man isn't much of a conversationalist. I don't know what kind of discussions you boys have amongst yourselves, but there are novel-length thoughts going through that child's head, and it might do him some good to let them out." Sammy didn't reply, chuntering away softly to himself as he rearranged a pile of planting markers. She laughed. "Does me good. People think m'crazy, but it does me good." She gathered up her tools and went to extract the toddler from his mud.
She carried Sam to bed when he finally dropped off around nine, and came back to a look of betrayal from Dean. She shushed him gently as the rearranged their nest of blankets on the couch. "None of that, Dean. He'll sleep better in his bed, and I want you here with me so that I can look after you." He was too wiped out to turn his back to her, but he very deliberately closed his eyes. She smiled to herself, pleased by his assertion of independence. Strangers got misled by his silence into thinking that he was meek, but even one month's acquaintance was enough to tell her what a strong personality he had. "Dislike me if you wish," she said easily, "But you do need to take your medicine now."
His fever worsened around midnight, enough that Lucy started to consider doctors and hospitals; it never got above 103, but that was enough to leave him acutely miserable. In desperate need of sleep but too uncomfortable for it, he began making small weary noises of misery that tore at her heart. His little face was flushed, eyes glassy, and on every exhale there came a small, almost inaudible whimper. By 12:30 she was at her wit's end with the sound, nearly in tears herself.
When it came time for his next dose of medicine he accepted it without a fight. Moments later, however, he went white as paper and she barely leaned him over the trash can in time. She rubbed his back softly as he heaved, and when he was through he rested his head on the couch cushions. "Mama," he sobbed. It was the first word she'd ever heard him speak.
"Oh, Dean," she whispered, and pulled him up, tucking his head under her throat and resting her chin on the damp curls. "Oh, precious. I am so sorry about your mama, baby, and I know that sometimes it seems like nothing will ever be okay again, but it does get better. I promise you, sweetheart, it gets better." His sobs were fading as he started to listen. Dean was such a good listener. "Sammy and your Daddy love you so much, Dean, and so do Max and me. Things aren't going to be perfect, but I promise you that they will be brighter in the morning. I swear, precious. They will."
He released a huge, shuddering sigh and finally went limp in her arms.
The fever finally broke around one, and they didn't wake up until Sammy came demanding morning kisses at seven. When she started to get up, she was stopped by Dean's fist gripping the end of her hair. She looked down at him to find enormous green eyes looking up at her shyly. "Is that your way of saying thank you, then?" She said lightly. He looked away, teeth worrying at his lower lip, and she instantly repented of her teasing and bent down to kiss him on the forehead. "I didn't mean it like that, honey. You talk or don't talk as you see fit." She straightened and smiled at him, one hand carding gently through his hair. "Looks brighter today, huh?" His smile was small, and beautiful.
Three months after the boys came to live with her, they were able to go and visit their dad. Fortunately, he was considered a low enough risk that they were able to visit him in one of the small rooms rather than needing to talk through a phone--Sammy chattered and bounced and questioned for the whole hour, while Dean stayed glued tight to his father's side, looking up at him with silently worshipful eyes. When their time was up there came a discreet knock at the door. Sammy was disinclined to leave until Dean took his hand, after which he looked up at his big brother with wet eyes. "Daddy?" He said tearfully, and Dean patted him carefully on the head. Sammy sniffed and consented to be held in place.
"Now, Dean," John said firmly, "I need you to look after your brother. Okay?" Dean straightened to attention, lifting his small chin, and nodded firmly. "Good boy."
"Boys, you go sit on the bench near the nice lady right outside the door, okay?" Lucy said evenly. "Your Daddy and I need to talk about some grown-up things." They went, Dean carefully guiding his brother along and Sammy with lots of sad backwards glances. When the door closed behind them John opened his mouth to speak, but Lucy beat him to it. "John Winchester," she said darkly, "Dean is the most responsible little boy I know. If ever there was a boy who didn't need to be reminded to look after his little brother, it's that one, and every time you do so you just put another weight on those small shoulders."
He stiffened and glared at her. "Dean does not need to be coddled."
"Fine! Don't coddle him. Just treat him like a little boy." He continued to look at her mulishly, and she rolled her eyes and sat down. "John, I am fifty-three years old, and I have been working with hunters for thirty of those years. Plenty of them--I'd even say most of them--manage to do the job without getting on any watch lists." She stopped herself and pinched the bridge of her nose. "What I mean is, you're reckless, Winchester," she continued more gently. "You concentrate on one goal over everything in the present. Not saying it's not a worthy goal, or that you shouldn't pursue it; but you forget that you've got people who need you to spend some of that obsessive devotion on them right now. Dean's your son, John. Not your lieutenant."
He looked away and down like Dean did when he didn't want to admit she'd made a point, and she leaned forward and laid her delicate hand over his big callused one. "They're good boys. And they love you. You'll all do fine as long as you remember that." Her mouth quirked up at the corner, and she patted his hand. "I guessed you noticed that Sammy is talking more."
He accepted her peace offering and met her eyes. "Yeah, I guess I did kinda notice." When he smiled, he showed where the boys got their dimples.
Sammy turned two almost five months after they came to live with her. They had a small party, just them, and since Lucy was useless at baking cakes he got two candles stuck in the top of a pile of cookies. Max shamelessly begged for treats from everyone, and Sam nearly vibrated with excitement upon being presented with a small heap of gifts.
Dean gave him one of his matchbox cars, and smiled the whole time.
When Lucy slipped on a piece of wrapping paper and fell spectacularly on her butt Dean even laughed, loud unfettered little-boy laughter, and Lucy grinned up at them both from her position on the floor and privately considered that the best gift of the evening.
Nine months since John was arrested found the boys with their guardian at the small local park. Sammy was everywhere, exercising his new-found passion for running and making use of every piece of equipment available. Dean sat beside Lucy on the swings, keeping a careful eye on his brother. She leaned back in her swing and gently nudged him with her elbow. "You know, looking after you two is my job. I would keep an eye on your brother if you wanted to go do something else." He shook his head, and gave her his most deliberately charming smile. She rolled her eyes but smiled back. "You could go and play soccer with those boys over there...." He made a disgusted face. "Yeah, well, don't tell anyone I said so, but that Caleb boy is definitely a pill." He snickered.
Sammy was tired enough on the way home to be almost as quiet as his older brother. He walked between Dean and Lucy, content to hold their hands as he carefully avoided all the cracks on the sidewalk. They were nearly home when an ominous snarling sound had Max pressing close to Dean's side and snarling. "Boys, don't--" before she could finish her thought, a massive grey dog came out of the bushes at them.
Dean pushed his little brother behind himself, and Lucy stepped in front of them all to meet the dog's charge head-on. It took her to the ground and buried its teeth in her forearm, but it was thin and starved, and Lucy Zywno had fought more vicious things in her life. It took two fumbling passes, with the thing's jaws clamped tight, for her to reach the knife in her boot. Once she got it free, it was all over--silver works as well for stray dogs as it does black dogs, and she shoved the body off her legs and staggered to her feet.
The neighbors were starting to appear, drawn by the sound, but she took a moment to inspect the boys. They were both shaken but unhurt, and she sighed in relief. "I think I'll sit down now," she told them, and did so.
Mrs. Morrow tired valiantly to get Lucy to let them call an ambulance, but she would have nothing of it. They finally gave her a little space when she demonstrated her well-stocked med kit, and consented to let her wait for a friend who could both take her to the ER and look after the boys. She couldn't have moved after that if she wanted to; Max sat on her feet, Sammy in her lap, and Dean was pressed against her side like he wanted to fuse into it.
"I'll have to get rabies shots," she said absently, as she stroked Sammy's hair with her uninjured arm. "I hate rabies shots."
Sammy grabbed her hand and patted it. "It's okay, Mis Loo. It'll be brighter tomorrow."
She looked down at his sweet worried face. "Say what now?"
"'It's brighter tomorrow'," he said, with the air of one quoting a great sage, "Dean always says."
"Uh-HUH." She grinned down at Dean. "He does, does he?" He buried his face in her side, winding a strand of her hair around his fist. Sammy nodded, and wrapped his arms around her.
There was a moment of silence, then Dean...said something, very softly, too much to make out, but definitely speaking. Lucy restrained herself from a reaction, rearranging Sammy in her lap until her composure was regained. "What was that, Dean?" she asked.
"...Thank you, Mis Lucy," he finally said. "For...looking after us. Thank you."
Unable to resist any further, she pulled him into her lap too. "You're welcome, Dean. I was glad to do it. Looking after you and Sammy is my job."
He rested his chin on her shoulder. "What's my job, then?"
She nudged his head with her nose, until he looked up and met her eyes. "Your job is to be our Dean."
He looked up at her with those enormous green eyes, and for the first time in nine months--the first time since he was four--he relaxed. "Okay."