#babysam

Sometimes, Dad yells at me when he comes stumbling in through the motels' door. Yeah, I'm only eight, but I guess I've just had to grow up quicker than a normal eight-year-old.

Sammy my younger brother who's four is always and I mean always attached to my hips. Always asking me when's daddy coming home, or when we're going to get another room? He's a pretty sharp kiddo for being four years old.

I'd say he's a lot sharper than I was at the age of four, but then again I don't remember much about age four. All I do remember is that one day there was our mother kissing Sammy's forehead saying a sweet good night to him, and the next I'm running out with Sammy in my arms, looking at my younger brother's room go up in flames.

I guess not having mom around made things hard for Sammy and Dad. Dad never spent time with Sam, worried about the things in the dark as he phrased it to me.

"Now you promise me, Dean. That you'll take care of your younger brother no matter what!" John said his large hand pressing rather hard into my tiny shoulder.

You'd think Dad would already know that I've taken care of Sammy for the past four years. Taught him how to brush his teeth, color in between the lines took naps with him in the back of the impala, or falling asleep in the crappy motels that always stunk.

"Yes, sir." Was the only thing I ever said to my father anymore.

He wasn't there as Sam took his first steps, his first birthday, he missed his first birthday. I was only five years old, and there I sat in a motel room with a one-year-old who was quiet. Since thank god he was asleep right now.

Hell for a kiddo that was only six months old when our mother, he was strangely quiet like I was. I never said more than what was needed, I always made sure Sammy had his food before I.

I made sure that kid was safe and in caring arms before thinking of myself. Because thinking of myself wasn't allowed, not in this world that Dad had created.

I guessed before we started to bounce from motel to motel Dad had brought some of my things from when I was a baby, like my building blocks, some he-man dolls, and some of the cards that had letters on them.

That's what I did with Sam in my free time, birthdays later and Sam can move the cards around to make the certain word I'm talking about.

"Now how about we do the word 'Carrot'" I said putting the cards out in front of Sam's grabby fingers and hands. Moving things around making the word, and then going off and chucking them out of his hands and all over the floor.

"Well, I thought that this was going to go better," I said getting up and grabbing the cards. We did this process over and over again. I'd hand him a few cards and then Sam would chuck them into the air.

"Okay, Sammy I know that you don't wanna do this but maybe just say one word just for me. Hell, say Daddy, or Dean. Just help me out here." I said, starting to give up.

He didn't and he continued to give me a hard time about the cards and saying pretty much anything. We stopped and I grabbed him from the high chair.

I cooked dinner and set the table and set down Sammy for him to eat. He sat and ate his food before Dad got home.

Again another night of Dad coming back through the motel's door and ragging at me, every time I made sure that Sam was put down for bed.

I was supposed to protect my younger brother and that... that was the only way I know how to protect him. I was okay with taking the brunt of dad's abuse.

The brunt of Dad's abuse was usually him yelling, and screaming at me. There wasn't physical abuse, but I'd been dealing with a drunk, abusive dad for a while now. Since mom had died.

Regardless, I thought that Sam was asleep, so I left the room closing the door just enough so the dim light from the kitchen didn't bother him.

"Where s'my dinner Dean?" John asked me. I stuttered over my words and fiddled with my hands. "Boy, you better answer me!" John said raising his voice at me.

"Sir, I didn't have any time. I've been taking care of Sammy all day long." I said panic and worry starting to flow through my words.

"Boy, don't you make your brother an excuse. You should be able to take care of Sam, me, and yourself." John said, getting up, and hovering over my much shorter stature.

"I didn't teach you everything I did just for you to come out as a sissy. You're a marine's son, you're a hunter's son." John said, raising his hand to hurt me in whatever shape.

I hadn't heard the bedroom door open or seen little Sam waddle his way into the room. "De?" Sam said.

There was a moment of silence. A moment where we, dad and I were frozen in place. "What?" I said looking over at Sam. His already long hair in a messy mop on his head. The long dinosaur t-shirt hanging long on his short stature.

"De?" He said moving his head to the side.

"Yeah, De. What's up buddy?" I said moving rather quickly to be away from John. Picking Sam up and hooking him onto my hip. He just grabbed my neck and pulled himself closer to me.

"Dean was... was that Sam's first word?" He said settling onto the motel bed. The springs became rather loud as his weight balanced through the bed.

"I'm pretty sure, sir," I said, rubbing down Sams back trying to lul him back to sleep. "Do you wanna go to daddy?" I whispered to Sam. All Sam did was shake his head, and then repeated "De."

'Good night dad." I said walking back into the room I had placed Sam in hours ago. "Good night son," John said as I shut the door. "Let's go to bed now Sammy," I said.

Sam nuzzled up in my chest, falling asleep before he even hit the bed. I smiled and climbed into the bed. Making sure to always be there and protect my little brother. I love Sam, and he’s mine to protect, he’s my baby brother.