Dean: 5
Sam: 1 1/2ish

John looked in the rearview mirror at his boys. Dean looked out the car door, draping one arm over his brother's car seat as Sammy played with his fingers. The boys' father smiled sadly as Dean recoiled when Sam pulled his pointer and index fingers in different directions, Dean gave his hand back to Sammy almost instantly without really thinking about it. "You know where we are Dean?" John asked. Dean nodded quietly.

Dean hadn't said a word in going on a year now. And John was more worried than ever: he was starting to become comfortable with it. He'd grown so used to it that he'd almost stopped trying to urge him to speak. When this started, he had been ready to take him to a professional, but then there was the worry of him talking about Missouri and everything... He wished he would have taken him in then; it was far too late now. He would have to keep trying himself. "Who are we going to see, Dean?"

Dean looked at the rearview mirror and made eye-contact with his father. He smiled a little, but still said nothing. He knew, at least.

John was taking them to see Bobby. The boys needed a break, and there was a job that wasn't too far away. He'd already phoned Bobby and made sure they could stay the weekend; Bobby loved the boys, he actually had a room set apart for Dean's bed and Sammy's crib. John sometimes prayed for Bobby, the boys could get away with anything when he was watching them.

Sammy gurgled when Dean smiled. Sam spoke more than Dean now, and his vocabulary grew every day, but there were never enough words for all the sounds he wanted to make. "Dean play." He giggled, trying to offer Dean his hand as a toy.

Dean smiled and wriggled his fingers and Sammy looked at the hand with wonder and began playing with the fingers all over again.

John focused on the road again.

Rumsfield was the first one to announce their presence. "Oh, be quiet you mutt." Bobby hushed the dog as he came out to the Winchesters gathering on his porch. Hey John, hi boys." He smiled warmly at them. Dean grinned back, and pulled Sammy's hand into the house. Bobby watched as they went right for the kitchen. "Still nothing from Dean then?" He asked his friend sadly.

John didn't answer, so Bobby just opened the door a little farther to let him in. "Thanks for this, Bobby. I know they're a handful."

Bobby waved him off. "Please John, you know you're all welcome here anytime. After that werewolf, don't you worry about them boys being a handful."

"Thanks again. Boys!" He called. Dean came back and Sammy came toddling after him. "Bye boys." He knelt down and gathered them both in a huge hug.

"Daddy go?" Sammy asked.

"Yep."

"Bye-bye Daddy."

John smiled a little again. "Will you say goodbye to me Dean?" He asked hopefully.

Dean looked at his father. He kissed his cheek. John had to force himself to keep the smile on his face this time; he hugged the boys one more time, tightly. "You behave for Uncle Bobby, okay?" Dean and his brother nodded.

"There's snacks on the table boys." Bobby offered John a quiet exit, but if the man would have looked back in his rearview mirror, he would have seen his boys (each with a burnt cookie) waving out the front window.

Sammy suddenly gasped. "Dean! Bwanky!" He cried. His blanket was still in his car seat.

Dean went to where they left their bags of clothes and grabbed Sam's blanket from on top of the suitcases. Dean always wondered why Sammy wanted this thing; it was so faded you could hardly tell that there was ever a pattern, or a color for that matter.

"Yay Dean!" Sammy practically tackled him for the cloth, and Dean tried to stop him from falling.

"Alright, boys." Bobby picked up the bags. "It's getting late. We'll play in the morning, okay?"

"'Kay." Sammy headed for the stairs, but turned back to wait for Dean. When his brother got there, he reached for his shoulders; Dean started lugging Sammy up the stairs by his hand and Sam tried to keep up, leaving Bobby laughing and waiting to follow. "Sory Unca Bobby?" Sammy asked when they finally made it to the top.

"What?" Bobby asked. Most of the time Sam was understandable, but there were always times...

"Sory? Pwease?"

"Let's get your pajamas on first Sammy." Bobby figured whatever he was asking could wait; and if he forgot, Bobby wouldn't have to figure it out.

Dean dressed himself, Bobby dressed Sammy. Dean kept on his AC/DC t-shirt that they'd been traveling in, and changed into black sweatpants. He kept his socks on, in case he had to wake up and run. Bobby spent a good ten minutes trying to put Sammy's footy pajamas on him. "No!" Sam squealed when Bobby placed him on his cribside and tried to stick his feet in. Dean had to come over and show Bobby that he had to put the pajamas on first like a jacket and then let the boy stick his own feet in the ends. Sammy also had to struggle with the zipper for several minutes before asking "Dean do?" It was a nightly ritual.

And as he crawled under the covers, he made sure that Bobby left the door open slightly and the hallway light on.

"I remember, Dean." Bobby smiled when he figure out why the boy was watching him so closely. "I've even got a night light that probably still works from last time. It's over on the dresser if you need it." Then Bobby left him alone, letting him choose whether or not to use the night light without embarrassment. "Goodnight."

Dean did jump to try to reach the night light on the dresser (he ended up having to pull out the bottom drawer and stand in it) and plugged it in halfway between him and Sammy. "'Nigh Dean." Sam yawned even before the little light was in place.

"Night Sammy," Dean thought as dreams came for him.

Dean woke up to light through the window the next morning, as opposed to Sam's babbling for him to get up. It was nice to be able to lay there for a minute... He snuggled deeper into his scratchy blanket and turned over to see why Sammy was still asleep, he was usually up really early the first night they moved...

Sammy wasn't in his crib.

Dean stared for a moment at the empty bars, not comprehending.

He was alone. His father was gone, Sammy was gone. Dean was up and running with a panic before his blanket hit the floor behind him. He ran through the hallway, ignoring Bobby's room as the man stirred with the sound of his running feet. "Dean what's--"

Dean hit the stairs and froze.

Sam looked up at him, stunned, in the middle of a venture down them backwards on his hands and knees. Dean sat on the top stair, weak with relief. Sammy grinned and waited for him, incapable of climbing back up.

Bobby came hurrying after the boy, wondering what the hell the noise could possibly be about this early. He looked at Dean and then Sammy on the stairs, and he got an idea of what happened, though he had no idea of the frenzy Dean had just come out of. "Looks like Sammy can climb out of his crib now." He chuckled.

"Breakfas?" Sammy asked, holding his arms up toward Dean.

Bobby grinned again. These were definitely John's kids, to the letter. "Yes Sammy, breakfast. I got eggs or cereal."

"Pop-ar?" Sammy asked.

Bobby repeated. "Eggs or cereal." In his mind, he was always strict with the kids. Only the boys knew the extent of what they got away with at Bobby's that their father would never allow.

"Eggs pwease." Sammy sighed in defeat. "Cheese?" The man rolled his eyes, but gave in.

Dean went over and picked his brother up by the arms and lumbered downstairs to the kitchen. "Fried or scrambled?"

"Scambuled." Sammy asked.

Bobby made a mental note to buy pop-tarts as he realized that the boys would probably grow tired of his limited cooking capabilities: eggs and cereal for breakfast, sandwiches for lunch, and take-out (or whatever he could get in a can) for dinner. He was used to it, but he didn't want to deal with Sammy whining every mealtime.

"So what do you boys want to do today?" Bobby asked. He had nothing pressing to do, and he knew that neither Dean nor Sam spent much time outside a motel room or the Impala.

"Schoo!" Sammy yelled instantly. Dean nodded. There was an old elementary school down the road with a playground behind it that they were sometimes able to go to; there were jungle gyms for Dean and mini slides for Sammy. Both of them were waiting by the door immediately after breakfast.

"Sorry boys." Bobby shuffled Dean inside, carrying Sam as they ran from the playground. It started raining late in the afternoon.

Sam thought this was fantastic, Dean however, was shivering and wet and not so happy. He had tried to go one more round on the monkey bars while they were wet, and so now had a headache and a scrape on his left elbow.

"Come on, let's get you boys changed outta those clothes." Bobby set Sam down with a grunt. "Go on, git upstairs." He pushed them a little and took off his hat to shake it dry.

Dean grabbed Sammy's hand and started helping him up the stairs, quickly. Until Bobby picked him up, Sam had stopped to jump in every puddle he saw, so they had spent about twenty minutes stopping and going after him when he took off running. Everything had been easier before he could walk.

Bobby looked in the boys' room to make sure they were okay, and proceded to his own. Dean pulled off Sam's shirt and dried him off with his pajamas from last night (which were still on the floor from that morning, since they didn't have to worry about being ready to leave every morning); Dean dressed him in his new fire truck pajamas so they didn't dirty another outfit and sat him on his bed so that he could dress himself.

He pulled on clean pajama bottoms and his AC/DC t-shirt again, it was his favorite. He still felt cold, and his hair was still wet, but he figured it would dry soon enough and Sammy was already up and running down the stairs.

That Night

Dean woke up to Sammy kneeling on his bed. "Dean?" He asked quietly.

Dean sat up, blinking tiredly. It was dark still, why was Sam awake so early?

"Sory Dean?" The little boy begged. Dean groaned quietly at him, he wanted a story now? He hadn't demanded one for the last two nights--... wait, maybe he had asked... still. "Pwease sory?" He set a book on the bed and opened it.

Dean couldn't read yet. His teacher had taught him words like 'the' and 'and', but reading bored him, and he never read aloud for Sammy. All the little boy was asking for was for him to sit up and look at storybook pictures, but his patience was thin after dark. All it took was one look from Sammy's big, innocent, pleading eyes to get him to nod.

He sat up, yawning, and his brother snuggled close to him (accidentally elbowing his ribs and waking him farther). Sammy opened an old book that he got from who knows where, it was wide and tall and had an interesting black design on the cover. There was writing on the first page, but no pictures, so Sam skipped it quickly, flipping instead to a picture that woke Dean up right away.

Sam gasped. "Dean! Daddy!"

Dean looked at the book hard. It was a photo album, though not one that he knew. He took it from his brother's hands and looked at the first picture. It was a family portrait--his family. The picture was taken just before Sammy was born, but how did his brother find it? "Look Dean." The boy pointed at the picture. "Dean--" He pointed to the his brother's face. "--Daddy." His finger moved to their father. He waited for a second, then made a face. "What?"

Sam's finger was now over the face of a woman. He looked at Dean for insight as to who she was, but the boy just stared. "Dean?" He whispered.

Dean seemed to snap out of whatever trance he was in; he looked at Sam with a questioning glance.

"What?" Sam repeated, referring again to the picture.

Dean swallowed at looked at the woman. "Mommy." Dean told him in a whisper. He pointed to each person. "Me, Daddy... Mommy."

Sam stared at his brother. He hadn't known Dean could talk (he'd never done so in front of him) but he was glad, and eager to keep going. He looked at the picture for another moment, and turned the page. The book was filled with pictures that had survived the fire, and Dean explained each of them until Bobby came in the next morning to see Dean talking to his napping brother about the time Mom and Dad had taken him to preschool.

End